


Act Your Age (HIATUS)

by peterparks



Series: LYMAN [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Awesome May Parker (Spider-Man), Bisexual Peter Parker, Canon-Typical Violence, Daily Bugle, EVERY SINGLE NAMED CHARACTER IS PULLED/ADAPTED FROM THE COMICS OKAY, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Iron Dad, Love Triangles, Multi, Mutual Pining, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Oscorp - Freeform, Parksborn, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Use, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has ADHD, Pining Harry Osborn, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, References to Depression, Stark-Oscorp Rivalry, Teen Angst, Teen Crush, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unrequited Crush, allusions to underage sex but there isn't any actual sex, alot of harry potter references, aunt may is the best parent in the world tbh, harry has a californian accent, harry likes gossip girl, harry osborn is an angsty boi, harry osborn needs a hug, he also needs a friend, infinity war didn't fucking happen, mcu harry osborn, money problems, ned leeds is pure, norman osborn is a bad parent, pop culture references, stark tower is now oscorp, tony relates a lil too much to harry, tony stark is such a dad, uncle ben liked movies, will add tags as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 56,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparks/pseuds/peterparks
Summary: "Harry, this is Peter Parker. He's our top student." Peter manages an awkward close-mouthed smile. Harry stands, ever the gentleman, and offers his hand for Peter to shake. Peter looks down at the hand for a moment, before taking it. Principal Morita interjects. "Peter will be your student guide for the next week."Just when Peter Parker thinks he has some sense of stability in his life, he's thrust into the world of Harry Osborn, the son of the recently moved industrialist Norman Osborn. (ON HIATUS/REWRITING)





	1. The New Stark Tower

 

**ACT ONE:**

**_“A Puff Of Smoke In The New York Cold"_ ** **  
**

 

...

「◆」

...

 

New York's city lights were luminous bulbs dancing across the onyx, polluted night. Each building could be seen somewhat prominently against the pitch black skyline, including an impressive, glass-plated building. The former Stark Tower—which had been vacated two months earlier of all occupants and its supplies—was almost unrecognisable from its former glory as Avengers Headquarters. Its buyer, an innovator in science, stands, almost regally, in his office on the top floor. His piercing eyes overlook the Manhattan streets as if they are cogs in a machine and he is its engineer. He's a silhouette in the window: a tall, lean man, with groomed salt-and-pepper hair. He had the sort of air surrounding him of someone who was perhaps good-looking in his youth, however, now clearly well into his late-forties, that beauty had faded beneath wrinkles. Behind him, a door unlatches. A man's voice echoes off of the floors: "Mister Osborn, your son has just arrived."

Norman Osborn does not look back at the assistant, his eyes remaining fixated on the street below. "What of it, Menken?"

His assistant – Donald Menken – swallows. "Do you want to see him?"

Norman waves his hand standoffishly, still not turning his back to the city. "Bring him in."

Menken exits the room, and a moment later Norman's son appears in the doorway. He takes after his father in height and face, but there's a kindness there that had never reached Norman's eyes.

"Father," he says, trying to cut through the tension looming in the dark room.

"You wanted to see me, Harry?" Norman speaks curtly as if this were simply a business transaction. 

"I, uh, well..." Harry falters at his dad's disinterest in him. Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness – so much could change in less than a year. "I just thought... you'd want to see me. I start school tomorrow, you know—"

"Yes. I am aware."

"—and I just..."

"...You just wanted to waste my time."

Harry says nothing. He thinks his mother would've objected to this total dismissal. He doesn't want to ponder on the thought.

"Nevermind, Father." 

Harry turns to exit his father's office, mentally berating himself for daring to gain some kind of humane reaction from him. He looked back at the silhouette of his father in the window, if only for a minute, before continuing to exit.

"Harry," Norman spoke, still not turning to look at his son. "Be more grateful. Attending a Science and Technology school might do you some good."

The boy swallows. "I'll... keep that in mind, Father."

"–And don't go wandering. You've heard the stories. It's a dangerous place, New York."

His father's words feel like dead weight, and Harry wished his mother was still alive.


	2. Harry Osborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Last year he completely missed the Academic Decathlon because he was too busy doing who-fucking-knows," there's a distinct bitterness in his voice, "Penis Parker, man. What a dickhead."
> 
>  
> 
> _Seemed plenty nice to me. _Harry thought, but didn't vocalise, as the boy had already moved on. "I'm Flash, by the way. Flash Thompson."__

The hoards of students parted to let him make way through the crowd. His tucked in collar and his too-heavy bag slung over his shoulder stood out among even the best and brightest of Midtown Technical School of Science. If this has been a year previous, Peter needn't have worried about being asked up to the front office. However, in recent months, being asked up usually meant that he could be expected to be told off in some way or another. He couldn't help it that there were periods where he couldn't complete homework, or go to tournaments, or participate in extracurriculars. In fact, if Peter had a little less common sense, he might've tried to outright blame New York's crime problem for his lack of total dedication to his school work, but somehow he didn't think that was a realistic excuse in the eyes of the school staff. How was the school supposed to know that, underneath Puny Parker, underneath Prissy Peter, underneath Penis Parker (and every other charming moniker he'd been granted since starting high school)  was the internet-famous Amazing Spider-Man, Queens' vigilante answer to petty crime?

The door to Principal Morita's office shut behind him, and Peter couldn't help but let out an audible sigh of relief when he saw that Morita didn't look particularly disappointed in him today. Rather the opposite. He looked, quite frankly, distinctively calm. However, Peter's alarm at being called up to the office had temporarily distracted him from noticing the unfamiliar boy seated comfortably in front of the desk.

His jaw was strong, defined.  _Handsome._ Peter took note of the boy's clothes: far too formal, far too put-together. He looked almost jittery. 

He tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair in no particular rhythm, instead just seeming to try to relax with a steady repeated pattern. He looked up at Peter from the chair, expectantly, and Peter was reminded strongly of someone, but he couldn't quite place–

"Peter!" Principal Morita said, "Just the man I wanted to see."

Peter briefly met eyes with the other boy, still frowning at the eery feeling that he'd seen him before, and then snapping his gaze to Principal Morita. He says nothing, still gripping to the shoulder strap of his school bag.

"Peter, this is Harry Osborn," he gestures to the boy. Peter's mind clicks into place as he realises who Harry looks like –  _Osborn. Like Norman Osborn._ "Harry, this is Peter Parker. He's our top student." Peter manages an awkward close-mouthed smile. Harry stands, ever the gentleman, and offers his hand for Peter to shake. Peter looks down at the hand for a moment, before taking it. Principal Morita interjects. "Peter will be your student guide for the next week."

 _This_  got Peter's attention. He turns to look at Morita. "What? But I–"

"Yes, I know you're very busy Peter. See this as an opportunity. Besides, you still owe me from all those times you skipped detention."  
He meant it teasingly, but Peter internally sighed.  _He was right_. He  _did_  owe him.

Harry watched the interaction with interest. He could practically see the gears behind Peter's eyes whirring. A smooth, quick transition from ' _who is this kid?_ ' to ' _I don't want this kid_ ' to ' _I guess I'll have to take this kid_ '. Harry couldn't help but feel mildly put-out by Peter's reaction to him at just their first meeting. He supposed his father could be right about  _some_  things.

"It's fine," Peter backtracks, "I'll... I'll manage."  
_Stupid, stupid, stupid._  Peter imagined hitting his head against his locker, like he was Dobby from  _Harry Potter_. 

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter seems pleasant enough, Harry supposed, albeit a tad awkward. Peter dressed as though his mother picked out his clothes, complete with a collared shirt. That being said, Harry could tell that Peter could plainly much rather be  _anywhere else_. Soon enough, Peter's phone vibrates in his pocket and he quickly checks it. His eyes widen for a moment, before he regains his composure. He locks eyes with Harry for a moment only to force a close-mouthed smile, and before Harry knows it, Peter suddenly disappears from his side. Harry  _tries_  not to hold it against the boy – he very clearly hadn't  _asked_  to be Harry's student guide – but it also didn't alleviate a nagging voice at the back of his head that he'd somehow done something to upset Peter. Like  _he_  was somehow the problem, but he wasn't sure why. There was this thought tugging at him that perhaps Peter was just awkward because he  _despised_  him... but that was irrational, right?

"He's always doing that," said a boy, moving to stand beside him. The boy is dark-skinned, most likely Latino, short, and slightly on the pudgy side. He, too, had a collared shirt like Peter, however it was unbuttoned and unironed. Over the top he wore a yellow blazer with a  _Midtown School of Science And Technology_  logo on the breast.

"Doing what?" Harry asked the boy.

"Disappearing. Last year he completely missed the Academic Decathlon because he was too busy doing who-fucking-knows," there's a distinct bitterness in his voice, "Penis Parker, man. What a dickhead."

 _Seemed plenty nice to me_. Harry thought, but didn't vocalise, as the boy had already moved on. "I'm Flash, by the way. Flash  _Thompson_ ," he emphasises his surname, as if it should matter to Harry at all. "You might've heard of my dad – Harrison Thompson? He's a captain in the NYPD–"

"Yeah, okay," Harry says, cooly. He'd already gaged the sort of person Flash was. A rich kid, who probably desperately wanted to live his best  _Gossip Girl_  life but quickly realised that was generally impossible if you weren't Blake Lively.

Flash realises he might've spoken too much, and pauses for a moment. "I thought you might need a friend."  
Harry looks him over. Flash, while entitled, was potentially the only person who didn't hate him. 

 

...

「◆」

...

 

He very quickly realised that Flash was a bit of a talker. Not in the charismatic, endearing way, either. In the obnoxious, show-off way that Harry had been very much used to prior to him and his father's relocation to New York. In fact, Flash hadn't seemed to have really spoken  _to_  Harry in almost that entire time. He just jumped straight into a monologue about how his dad had bought him an expensive jacket recently. Harry had sort of tuned him out after a while. At least it meant he wasn't alone.

Flash guides Harry towards a table, where two people sit. One is a larger girl with brown hair that reached just past her shoulders. She wore a turtleneck sweater with the same yellow blazer that Flash wore. The other was a boy, with darker skin and dark curly hair. Unlike the other two, he didn't wear a blazer, instead wearing a simple button-up.

"New meat coming through!" Flash says, gesturing towards Harry. If Harry had the energy, he might've laughed. Flash was probably a little under five-and-a-half feet, yet he was speaking as though he were a much bigger person. The two barely look up. Flash clears his throat.

"I said," Flash repeats,  _"_ _new meat coming through._ _"_

The two suddenly feign interest. "What stray have you picked up  _this_  time?"

"What d'ya mean,  _this time?_ _"_ the girl says.

The boy smiles teasingly, "You know exactly what I mean, Sal."

She rolls her eyes. Harry looks between the two and decides watching them bicker is much more entertaining than listening to Flash speak any day. 

"I'm Sally," she says, "Avril," she adds.

The boy does a slight jerk upwards of the head, to signify greeting. "I'm Jason Ionello. You might know me from such hits as..." he pauses for dramatic effect, "the school news station."

Harry shrugs. "Wouldn't know it. I'm new."

Jason gasps dramatically, "You are  _missing out_ _._  I'm this school's very own national treasure."

"By that he means he gets rejected in front of the entire school population every day," Sally says.

"You know I only do it for banter," Jason says, defensively, "I don't  _actually_  like Betty Brant. She's too... sophisticated. Snobbish, you feel?"

"Whatever you say," Sally quips back, disbelieving Jason.

Flash cuts over them, "Hey! This is Harry  _Osborn."_  He places emphasis on his surname, and Harry wants to scream.

Sally's face lights up, "As in, Norman Osborn?"

 

...

「◆」

...

 

" _You just... left him there?_ " Ned said through Peter's phone speakers, while the man himself sat, his legs dangling over the edge of a building. He'd gotten word that some petty thieves had broken into a lady's apartment, only for it to turn out to be a false alarm. Peter hated it when that happened. Not because he hated being Spider-Man, but because he hated the thought of what May would do when she found out he'd skipped school.

 _May_. She  _knew_  who he was. That being said, she wasn't  _comfortable_ with it. After the initial shock of finding out he was Spider-Man in what was, probably, the most stupid and undignified way anyone could possibly find out, May sat down on the couch and just  _cried_. She looked up old videos on  _YouTube_. Spider-Man battling robbers in banks, Spider-Man running into burning buildings, Spider-Man swinging from building to building on a day-to-day basis – and she looked up at Peter and just said,  _Why would you put yourself in danger like that?_

 _Responsibility_ , he had said. She looked down at her hands, and Peter slid next to her. They'd just sat there in silence for what must have been half an hour.   
_I understand,_ she'd told him,  _but I wish you didn't have to..._

She never finished the sentence, but Peter knew what she'd meant.

Peter spoke down the phone to Ned. "I'm sorry! I didn't  _want_ to, I just–"

" _Dude! You can't just leave Norman Osborn's son alone–_ "

"It was just at school, chill out. I've got everything under control."

Peter could practically  _hear_   Ned rolling his eyes. Sure enough, Ned's response solidified that.

" _That's what you always seem to say,_ " Ned says, and then, in a downright offensive attempt at a Peter impression, he says, " _Oh, yes, Ned, I have everything under control  – sure, the Empire State Building is on fire but–"_

Peter frowns, "It was  _cardboard_. A  _cardboard model_. It's not like I  _actually let the Empire State Building catch fire_."

" _Yeah, well, when are you coming back to school – oh no..._ " Ned trailed off, leaving Peter to panic momentarily.

"What? What is it?"

 _"Harry Osborn. Tall kid. Thin, kinda pale. Sticky-uppy hair?"_ Ned asks.

"Uh, yeah?"

_"Well, uh, it seems he made a new friend."_

Peter frowns. "And that's a problem because-?"

_"And it's Flash."_

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry leaned backwards in his seat, causing the front legs of his chair to rise up off of the floor. He was  _bored._ Not that there was anything wrong with Sally or Jason, they seemed like genuinely nice and cool people. But  _Flash,_ on the other hand... he was something else.

"You know, my dad got me a car for my last birthday," he boasts, proudly.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "How? Your dad works in the police force _.”_

Flash shrugs. "Yeah, well, Spider-Man totalled my last car–"

"I'm sorry, what?"

Flash leaned backwards in faux coolness, puffing out his chest. "Yeah. Spider-Man stole my car to help him find that Vulture guy. This school's been on the news a  _lot_ because of Spider-Man. We're like, famous."

Jason shrugs. "Not really. We've been on the news twice. This old student though, Liz Allan-Toomes – total babe, by the way –"

"She went to  _this_ school?" Harry said incredulously.

"Yeah, you know her?" Sally asked.

"Just from the news articles and stuff. It was all over social media. I remember it became this huge, like, race issue, because that Toomes guy murdered like three people but still barely got a criminal charge and a lot of people thought it was because he was, well, white," Harry pauses, "...and all those conservative-type people started making an example of his daughter saying it's not a race issue because she's black."

"She was the captain of the Decathlon team, before MJ," Sally said, "Flash and I are on the team. It probably would've gone to Peter if he wasn't  _missing_ all the time."

Flash rolls his eyes. "Parker would  _not_ have gotten it. He's not even that smart."

 _Peter... Parker?_ Harry realises suddenly who they're talking about. "He's actually my student guide"

"He's literally the top of the year," Sally pointed out to Flash, "Maybe even the school. He's a straight-up genius."

"This is nerd school, isn't everyone a genius?" Harry asked.

"Nah, some are just like, average smart. Like me. My speciality is the Technology aspect. Engineering, mostly," Jason says.

"And  _I'm_ really good at Math," Sally adds, "same with Flash.  _Peter_ on the other hand, he's good at pretty much everything, when he bothers to show up. He literally missed out on  _Homecoming."_

Jason exhales dramatically, "Dude, that gets me kinda mad to be honest," he says.

"Yes, we know," sighs Sally.

Harry frowns, confused.  _"Why_ would Peter not showing up to Homecoming get you mad?"

Jason leans back and puts his hands in his hair, seemingly stressed, "Don't even get me  _started._ You know how I was telling you about Liz Allan-Toomes, right? Well, she went to Homecoming with Peter. She looked  _amazing._ But suddenly, like ten minutes into the dance, Peter disappears. On top of that, that was the night her fucking  _dad_ was arrested. Like Jeez. I know he couldn't have  _known_ her dad was gonna get arrested. But c'mon."

"As you can tell, he's very passionate about this," Sally adds dryly.

"I have a theory that he's secretly gay," Flash says with a snort, "trying to hide it by dating one of the most popular girls in school. But I see through him."

Harry narrows his eyes at Flash. So he's one of  _those_ entitled high school boys.

"Dude, could you lay off him for like a second?" Jason says.

"He's actually really nice," Sally addresses to Harry. "A few girls like him, which is more than you can say,  _Flash."_

Harry’s opinion of Flash was suddenly dropping lower and lower with each thing he said.

Suddenly, there was a crash from behind him. Harry swivelled his head around to see what the commotion was about.

It appeared that Peter, in some kind of rush, had run into the cafeteria with such force that he'd slid straight into the trash can. A larger boy with a  _Star Wars_ hoodie and a brimmed hat on was quickly trying to help him. Many of the students snorted, but were otherwise disinterested. At the table closest to Peter's trash can, a rather thin-looking girl with her hair tied back in a messy ponytail had seemingly put down her book to get out her phone and film it.

That was until Flash decided to stand up on the bench and shout as loud as possible, "Penis Parker! In the trash where he belongs!"

"Flash–" Sally begins.

"Pen-is Par-ker!" Flash says, in an almost rhythmic chant.

"Dude–" Jason starts.

Harry looks over at Peter, who has now reemerged. He's looking okay, aside from a little bit of pasta sauce now on his clothes and face. Harry sees Peter swallow and clench his jaw as he looks up at Flash, and for a moment Harry thinks he sees a flicker of something else behind his eyes. However, it goes fast. He slings his bag over his shoulder indignantly and walks towards them.

"Oooooo," Flash supplies his own background noise, lamely.

"I'm not here for you, Flash," Peter says, almost bored. He turns to Harry.

"Sorry for... disappearing on you earlier. I... have no excuse apart from... something came up?" It's phrased like a question. "I... I hope I can still be your student guide?"

"You gonna disappear on me again?" Harry asks.

"I..." Peter stumbles for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say, "I can't promise I won't. But I can promise that it's not your fault, I just... have a  _really_ busy schedule. And if I can't be there, then Ned will help you." Harry only just notices the larger boy from earlier poking his head out from behind Peter, beaming.

"Woah, woah, woah," Flash jumps in quickly, "you can't do that, Parker. Osborn's  _my_ friend."

"Harry," Peter hadn't emphasised Harry's first name, but it still felt as though he had – it was like a sudden jolt of relief and understanding struck his heart, "can decide things for himself. If he wants you to be his student guide, I'll be on my way."

 _This_   _boy_ , Harry couldn't help but think.  _How does he do that? How does he know how to do everything right?_

"You know what? Yeah. I... think I'd like that?" He hadn't meant to say it as a question, but it ended up coming out that way.

Peter and Ned both beamed at him; Peter bashful and awkward, Ned precious. "You wanna... sit with us?" Peter asks, uncomfortable but friendly. Harry now realised it wasn't because he hated Harry, but because he was just  _that_ introverted. He was out of his element, even now, trying to speak in front of Flash.

"Yeah." Harry turns to Sally and Jason. "If you ever want to hang out with someone that’s not a complete asshole, hit me up.”

Peter widened his eyes, and Ned beamed. Peter blinked a few times, frowned, before finally realising what just happened. The three walked away, Peter still surprised.

“You just called Flash Thompson an  _asshole.”_

“Because he is.”

“Well,  _yeah,”_ Peter said incredulously, “but just… I…”

Harry looks Peter over properly for the first time. He had a diamond-shaped face, kind eyes, and thin-lips. He seemed to radiate the charm of a young Michael J. Fox. He was on the shorter side, but not in a particular obvious or striking way. His shoulders were also oddly broad, and for a moment Harry was curious as to whether Peter worked out in his spare time.

Peter and Ned lead Harry to their spot. Their table was almost completely empty, aside from one girl, one who had filmed Peter earlier, sat about two metres away from them. She had returned to her book and didn’t seem to care much for Harry’s arrival.

“So,” Ned finally said when they sat down, “Important question.”

He pauses, as if he’s about to ask something groundbreaking. For a moment Harry wonders if Ned’s going to ask him about his father’s work. However, he is surprised when…

“Do you like  _Star Wars?”_

“Um,” Harry begins, “I’ve only watched about… two of them? Maybe?”

“Which ones?” Ned almost demands, excitedly.

“Um, something Clones? And the new one.  _The Force Awakens.”_

“Oh, boy,” Ned sighs, looking forlorn. He wipes away imaginary tears, and removes his hat as if he is in mourning, “May the Force be with you–”

“Ned!” Peter nudges his friend in the side, before looking up at Harry. “So, if you’re not into…  _Star Wars,_ what do you like?”

“Uh, well…” Harry racks his brain for the nerdiest thing in his interests, which he quickly realises is very few. Harry hadn’t found interest in much of anything for a long time. Peter’s discomfort radiates off of him.

" _Harry Potter?_ I read all seven books when I was a kid?”

 _That counts,_ Harry thinks,  _Right?_

“I love  _Harry Potter!_ ” Ned says, cheerfully. “Peter has a  _bunch_ of  _Harry Potter_ LEGO se-”

“Ned,” he says through gritted teeth before adding, “We don’t… play with LEGO sets. Psht. We are men. Manly grown men.”

Ned’s mouth forms an ‘o’ shape in realisation and smiles, “Oh yeah. Manliest of all men.” He flashes another beaming smile.

Harry looks between the two of them. “You don’t have to pretend to be something you’re not to impress me or whatever. You like what you like. I  _wish_ I had the passion for something, to be honest.”

Ned’s composure remains as it had been: cheerful and bright. However, Peter’s eyes begin to droop, forcing he and Harry to make eye contact. And for a moment, one shining moment, Harry thinks that maybe he has a friend, one who might  _finally_ understand him.

 


	3. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mister Osborn!” an interviewer, a blonde woman, calls to him from the crowd. She holds a microphone to her mouth. “The people want to know: what was running through your head when you decided to purchase your new headquarters from one of your biggest competitors?”

The abundance of cameras flash in the crowd below, some professional, some amateur – all wanting to catch a good photo of the mysterious Norman Osborn. His eyes seemed cold, ingenuine, and his stance was powerful. He’d perfected his paparazzi face so long ago.

“Mister Osborn!” an interviewer, a blonde woman, calls to him from the crowd. She holds a microphone to her mouth. “The people want to know: what was running through your head when you decided to purchase your new headquarters from one of your biggest competitors?”

It was true that _Stark Industries_ had been one of _Oscorp’s_ largest competitors for a large portion of the last decade, and most definitely not a secret. He’d been, perhaps, a little forward with his _ideas_ towards Tony Stark in the past.

 _“I am Iron Man,”_ Tony Stark had said, nine years prior. He’d announced it to the world; he’d built an edge over _Oscorp_ that Norman could never see to beat. _Iron Man_ was Tony Stark’s biggest marketing tool, and Norman was so _certain_ that he knew it.

 _“It comes to no surprise that Tony Stark would seek to increase sales under the guise of heroism,”_ Norman had informed the press the day after he’d been asked, _“I refuse to grant him the satisfaction of admitting defeat.”_

The newspapers, of course, had quoted him on this. Time and time again. It circled him for two months, people questioning Norman’s motives in discrediting Tony Stark so easily. Many New Yorkers had made angry _Twitter_ and _Facebook_ status regarding Norman’s perspective, deeming him too _selfish_ to fathom anyone doing anything out of the genuine interest in their heart. Closer to home – that was to say, Norman’s residence at San Francisco at the time – people viewed Norman as a real truth-giver. After all, Tony Stark had proved to be nothing more than your average capitalist until the _reveal._

Until, it didn’t stop. The _Iron Man,_ as Tony had dubbed it, had continued time and time again to improve the lives of the general public, albeit the collateral damage. Tony Stark had risen – as Iron Man – to the status of American heroes such as _Captain America._ He was a new symbol for the American dream; a man who rose above himself to do good for the _sake_ of good. Norman couldn’t compete. He’d struggled to find an edge, something truly extraordinary, to set himself above Stark.

“That is an interesting question, Miss–?”

“Bunsen.”  The blonde woman thrusts the microphone closer to Norman to better pick up his words.

“Miss Bunsen. I was thinking that it was about time _Oscorp_ relocated back to New York. As many of you know,” he speaks, addressing the crowd, _“Oscorp_ has been based in San Francisco for the last sixteen years. However, due to many a circumstance, it has come to my attention that the best direction from here would be to restore headquarters to this fair city.”

Several reporters move closer. They clump together, edging towards him like a fly to a lightbulb. “Mister Stark just so happened to be in a position in which he was selling the former _Stark Tower,”_ Norman lets a small smile creep onto his face, for good public measure, “and it was in  best interests to _Oscorp Industries_ to take advantage of such a… historic scientific building.”

A flash of a camera. Miss Bunsen speaks again.

“So, would you say that your public distaste for Tony Stark has simmered away?”

Norman puts on his best charismatic smile. “Of course not,” he says in good humour. There are a few laughs from the audience. “One must not grow too friendly with their competitors, after all.”

“What are your opinions on _Pym Technologies,_ and their run ins with the government? They, too, were located in San Francisco.” A male reporter from further back in the crowd says. Norman was quite used to being asked for his opinion on other scientists’ actions.

“Now, now,” Norman humours the reporter, “we mustn’t cause another press scandal. Hank Pym, like Tony Stark, is a man that attempted to play God. We all know _that –_ why _that_ is a dangerous thing.”

 

...

「◆」

...

  

Peter Parker was, quite frankly, _terrible_ at eye contact. In fact, Harry noticed that he seemed quite out of his element in terms of people skills. Harry didn’t mind. It was refreshing.

Another thing Harry observed was how _energetic_ he was. Hyperactive, unfocused, while simultaneously completely present. It wasn’t the sort of energetic that tired Harry out, though. The people that tired Harry were loud without words. Peter wasn’t loud even _with_ words.

“You know, I think Luke is her dad,” Ned said. Peter frowned at the statement.

“He is _not,”_ Peter says, “That would just be bad writing. And a cop out.”

Ned shrugs. “It would give the fanboys what they want.”

“What about _good writing,_ Ned?” Peter replies, “Whatever happened to writing things without fanservice?”

Harry watched their conversation, trying his absolute best to follow what exactly was happening. However, it simply made no sense. Harry assumed they were talking about _Star Wars,_ but Harry knew nothing of the films. He’d seen _The Force Awakens_ when it had come out a little over a year ago, but he hadn’t entirely _followed._ His only indicator of when there was something mildly recognisable from the previous films was on screen had been the swell of the non-diegetic music and the obnoxious cheering from fanboys in the cinema. Harry supposed Ned and Peter were probably those kinds of people. Harry hadn’t even particularly _wanted_ to see it; but he needed to get out of the house and he’d already seen _The Revenant._

“Besides,” Peter says as they approached a locker. Peter’s fingers wrapped around the lock and twisted to input the code. “I think Luke Skywalker is gay.” _Yep, Star Wars,_ Harry thought, _he knew that much._

“No way!” Ned replies, “He had a crush on Leia!”

“So your evidence for him not being gay is that he had a ‘crush’ on his sister,” Peter subtracts his laptop and his Chemistry textbook from the locker before slamming it shut.

“I’m sorry, what?” Harry asks, “What kind of weird incest shit are you guys _watching?”_ _  
_

_“Star Wars,”_ Peter and Ned say in unison, not even defending Harry’s accusation of it being _weird incest shit._

“I saw _The Force Awakens,_ and there was no… incest in that. What even–” Harry begins.

“Well, if _Ned,”_ Peter dramatises his irritation for comedic effect, “on the off-chance, _is_ right, then that means that there _is_ incest, because of the _obvious_ undertones between Kylo Ren and Rey–”

“Not _this_ again!” Ned exclaims, “it’s not gonna happen!”

“Just you wait. The next film is gonna come out and you’re gonna have to _pay_ me five bucks.” Peter looks quite happy with himself.

“Yeah, well… you’re wrong,” Ned manages.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Ten scientist mill around the laboratory, their white coats illuminated by the green serum in the tall, cylindrical tube. _Years_ of research has lead to this – development after development of Abraham  Erskine’s _super soldier serum._ _Oscorp Industries_ had many secrets, and this was the best kept of them all. By order of Norman Osborn – in 2009, he’d begun this project. Ten of _Oscorp’s_ best geneticists were put on the job. The head of this division, a dark-haired asian woman, stands looking over a cage of mice, in her hand holding a small needle containing the smallest amount of the serum. One of her lab partners, Doctor Lowell, opens the cage diligently. This was, quite honestly, Mei’s least favourite part of her job. Testing their research on _animals._ Lowell placed a mouse in front of her, his hands hovering above it to prevent it from escaping.

She tried not to wince as the needle pierced the mouse’s skin and the serum was injected into it. The mouse stopped moving the moment the liquid entered its bloodstream. Mei sighed to herself, closing her eyes as the hopelessness.

“Doctor Stromm,” Lowell’s voice suddenly cuts through, and she opens her eyes. The mouse is upright, its eyes slightly pinker than before and its hair with a slight seafoam tinge to its once white coat – it’s alive.

“You know what this means?” Lowell says as Mei inches her face closer to the miracle mouse. Mei’s mouth curves upwards at the thought.

“Progress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mei stromm is v v v loosely based off of mendel stromm


	4. Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, word on the street says you’re new in town.”  
> “You mean the tabloids.”  
> “Nah, I mean my operative on the inside, my main man, my… my buddy,” he speaks like someone who is trying perhaps a little too hard to come off as confident.  
> “And who’s that?” Harry presses his cigarette back to his lips.  
> Spider-Man leans against the brick wall of the balcony with false nonchalance. “Peter Parker.”

It hadn't escaped Peter's notice that Harry Osborn was worryingly nonchalant about  _everything._ That was to mean  _everything._  
Of course, Harry was smart – perhaps not a genius – but, he was intelligent. He was well-rounded, well-read. He seemed to enjoy talking about social issues and politics. It had come to Peter's surprise that Harry disliked capitalism – especially shocking considering who Harry's  _father_ was. Harry also seemed quite unphased by pretty much anything, not even when Ned began his one-man performance of  _Alexander Hamilton._  

"Are you...  _okay,_ Harry?" Peter had awkwardly brought up when he'd said beside him for their first History class together. Harry merely shrugged and said  _"I'm fine."_ It was only when their teacher had placed a handout on the Great Depression – their topic – on their desk and Harry had said out of the corner of his mouth in a barely detectable whisper while pointing to the title,  _"Me too,"_ that Peter wondered just how  _fine_ "I'm fine" meant. On the one hand, it could be in good humour. On the other...

Peter knew he was too much of a worrier. Aunt May had always told him so. Even when he was a child, he would worry about most things. He could vaguely remember being seven-years-old, watching as  _Iron Man –_ his  _hero_ – battled aliens on the television. It was such a bizarre thing to think about having  _happened,_ and yet, he could remember it so vividly. He'd bitten his fingernails down to the quick with worry over whether or not Tony Stark (and, he supposed, the other Avengers) would make it out. If they would  _save_ them. And they did. They always did.

That hadn't even been  _that_ long ago... barely eight years. Yet, it felt so long ago. Young Peter Parker, with his doe eyes and his oversized glasses had only  _dreamed_ of being anything more than himself. Bigger than himself.  _Spider-Man_ was just that; and he, like Peter Parker, was a worrier. And he was worried about Harry Osborn.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The elevator dinged to signify it reaching its destination. The metal doors slowly but smoothly parted, and Harry stepped out into the apartment. It was completely empty; every small sound echoed off of the walls and floors, and Harry couldn’t believe he tricked himself into thinking life would be any different in New York than it had been in San Francisco.

He kicked off his shoes out of habit and loosened his sweater vest so he could pull it over his head to sprawl over his father’s pristine red leather couch. The penthouse apartment was still in the process of being decorated, and Harry had noticed several additions to the décor since he’d left for school this morning, the one most notable addition would be that of the large portrait, hanging – looming – above everything. Central, high on the wall so you can’t miss it. The _three_ of them. His father, on the left side, looking foreboding and business-like, and his mother with a rather smart-looking pixie haircut and a smile on her face, her hands resting on a young Harry’s shoulders. It had been two-and-a-half years since the portrait had been painted. Locked into a time when things were – not quite _good_ – but not as bad as they were now. Harry wondered if that had been the last time he’d smiled.

Harry stepped out onto the balcony. He felt like an undeserving leader, looking down at the city as if he had a right to take in its glory. He slings his bag off his shoulder and retrieves from the front pocket a box of cigarettes. He tips the box upside down and tamps the pack lightly. Harry swiftly pulls a cigarette from the box and places it between his teeth before taking a lighter from the same pocket. He places his right thumb over the spark wheel and his left hand in front of where the flame should ignite. A small fire dances above the lighter and he moves it towards the end of the cigarette, and the end alights.

He re-adjusts his left hand to hold the cigarette between his index and middle finger, then inhales the smoke. He withdraws the cigarette from his mouth and sighs, thinking to himself, _When did I become a walking stereotype?_

 “Howyadoin’?” a voice says from behind him, and Harry jumps about a metre out of fright. He looks towards the owner of the voice, seemingly coming from… but that wasn’t possible…

 He looks over the balcony railing, sure he must be hearing things. He shook his head – he really needed more sleep. He turned back, and almost had a heart attack as he found himself face-to-face with the infamous ‘friendly neighbourhood’ Spider-Man.

 He was shorter than Harry was expecting, based on all the stories and clips he’d found on _Youtube._ He was very well built, the costume being _very_ skin-tight. On top of that, he sounded _younger_ than he was expecting, too. He wasn’t even quite sure how old he thought Spider-Man was, but he _definitely_ didn’t think he’d sound like he could fit right in among Harry’s classmates.

“Y’know, smoking’s bad for you,” Spider-Man said, his mechanical eyes narrowing in on the cigarette still placed between Harry’s fingers.

“So is prowling around New York at night, but you seem to do that every night,” Harry replies, cooly. He knows he probably shouldn’t argue with Spider-Man. He knows he’s right.

“Touché,” Spider-Man says, with equal coolness. “So, word on the street says you’re new in town.”

“You mean the tabloids.”

“Nah, I mean my operative on the inside, my main man, my… my buddy,” he speaks like someone who is trying perhaps a little too hard to come off as confident.

“And who’s that?” Harry presses his cigarette back to his lips.

Spider-Man leans against the brick wall of the balcony with false nonchalance. “Peter Parker.”

“Of _course_ you know Peter Parker,” Harry says, more to himself than anyone else.

“What’dya mean, _of course?”_ Spider-Man asks, genuinely curious.

Harry inhales another intake of smoke. “Well, it’s just, I only just started at Midtown today, and I’ve heard more about _him_ than anyone else.”

Spider-Man’s mechanical eyes widened. “Really?” His voice sounded as though it had raised an octave.

“Yeah. Though, to be fair I’ve only spoken to about five people today. People don’t exactly… _like_ me,” Harry says it without thinking, trailing off awkwardly. He shakes his head.

“What am I even _doing?_ I don’t even _know_ you and yet-”

“It’s _fine,_ man,” Spider-Man says. “You know, I only came because Peter sent me to see if you’re alright.”

Harry looks up at him, surprised. “He did?”

“Uh…” Spider-Man begins, “um…. yeah! He thought you seemed, I don’t know, upset about something or-”

“Harold Theopolis Osborn!” he hears an angry shout from inside, and he quickly stubs his cigarette by throwing it on the floor and extinguishing it with his shoe. Spider-Man looks back at from where the shouting is coming from inside the penthouse.

“You should go,” Harry says.

“O...okay,” he replies, his voice laced with worry. “But if you need me, just ask Peter to get me. Or even better, talk to _Peter._ He’s uh… a pretty good guy, if you ask me.”

 Harry sighs.

" _Harry!”_ the shout says again.

“Yeah,” Harry directs at Spider-Man.

“Yeah to what? Asking Peter to get me or talking to Peter?”

 _“Yeah,”_ Harry repeats. He swallows a lump in his throat and re-enters the penthouse.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter pondered over his interactions with Harry. Even with just that single day that they'd known each other, Peter felt a sense of responsibility towards the Osborn boy. There was something... something locked away in those blue eyes. While Harry hadn’t seemed particularly phased with, what Peter assumed to be, his father yelling at him from the other room, there was something in the resigned expression that seemed off. Tired. He could see his shoulders physically tighten, whether consciously or not, at the sound of his father’s voice, and Peter didn’t like to make assumptions, but…

Yeah, he was worried about Harry.

He stepped into the kitchen, where his Aunt May was trying her very best to make sushi. She’d found a recipe online and decided that she would try it, and much like every other recipe she had attempted in the past, it didn’t seem to be going well.

“May,” Peter said, trying to keep the conversation as casual as possible, “if you were worried about someone, but… but you barely know them, would you still reach out to them? Or would that be, y’know, weird?”

May looked up from her food preparation. “Pete, you know as a responsible adult I feel the need to ask what this is about.”

Peter pauses for a moment. “It might be nothing, really, May. But I just thought…”

May put her hands on Peter’s shoulders and kissed his forehead lovingly. “You’re such a good person, Peter. I think that you know the answer to that.”

Peter looks down for a moment and sucks in his lower lip, thinking. “Thanks, May.”

“Anytime, Kiddo.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Norman Osborn's very presence was imposing; larger than life. He was hardly taller than Harry, standing about three inches above his teenage son, however, his very aura exuded something very  _hostile._ Every fibre of Harry's body would tighten the moment a word left his father's lips in his direction.

“I work all day – talking to the press – and return home only to find my son having left his clothes _everywhere?”_

Norman gestures to Harry's vest across the sofa.

“Father, it’s just a sweater ve-”

“It’s _mess._ We can’t allow a cleaner into this apartment until after we have fully moved in, so you will do your job and not leave… sweater vests on the furniture.” Norman's voice is heavy.

Harry bites the inside of his mouth, wondering if it was worth the fight.

“I was going to put it away, but-”

“But?”

Harry suddenly realises he's lost for excuses. He can't just say  _Spider-Man_ was on their balcony, telling him the dangers of smoking like those  _Captain America_ PSAs. His father wouldn't believe him. Or submit him to private psychiatric attention. Again.

 _“But_ I had a friend over,” Harry says, suddenly. “He left. Just before you arrived.”

Norman’s eyes seemed to flash for a moment.

“No excuse. Now what’s this boy’s name? Is he from your school? If he’s going to be a bad-”

“No, no, no, Father,” Harry begins, “His name’s... Peter Parker. He’s the top academic student at school. He’s practically a genius.”

Norman made no passing judgements, instead saying, “Invite him over for dinner.”

“What?”

“Invite. Him. Over. For. Dinner,” Norman repeated, as if speaking to a five year old. “I’d like to know what kind of riffraff my son has been hanging out with. If he _is_ as you say he is, then there should be no problem.”

Knots had found a home in Harry’s stomach, and he didn’t know how to untangle them.

 


	5. Text Etiquette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s phone vibrated in his hands, and he saw he’d just gotten a new Instagram notification. It read _Harry Osborn (@realharryosborn) followed you. ___

He laid on his bed, his arms outstretched in front of him holding his phone over his head. Harry was feeling distinctly creepy doing this, but after his conversation with Spider-Man he couldn’t help but be a little curious.

He opened up to Peter’s Instagram profile. He seemed to post frequently, but had very little followers or likes. His profile picture was of him facing forward, looking away from the camera so his eyes were looking to top right corner of his eye. His bio said: _“Do or do not, there is no try.”_ Harry didn’t know where the quote was from, but he guessed it was something Peter was interested in.

Harry scrolled through his feed. The most recent was a photo from yesterday, with Peter and Ned pulling funny faces at the camera. They appeared to be on a bus of some sort. The next photo was of the girl who sat near Peter and Ned. She was holding up a peace sign to the camera while looking very bored. The caption revealed her to be named MJ.

Harry followed Peter’s account, hoping that wasn’t going to come off as _weird._

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter’s phone vibrated in his hands, and he saw he’d just gotten a new Instagram notification. It read _Harry Osborn (@realharryosborn) followed you._

Peter didn’t even check Harry’s account, immediately following him back. Peter considered messaging him – he didn’t have Harry’s number, after all – but his nerves shook too much.

 _What if he thinks I’m weird?_ Peter thinks. _What if he leaves me on seen? That would be the worst._

He put his phone on his bedside table and switches off the light, rolling over to sleep. A moment later, Peter rolls back towards his bedside table and flicks the light back on. He takes his phone back in his hands and unlocks it, opening the Instagram app again, this time opening up Harry’s page. He has three photos and two thousand followers. His bio is completely blank, aside from his name. Peter pauses, his fingers hovering over the direct message option. The message screen appears, and Peter types out a simple message.

**_hey!_ **

Before Peter can even swipe out of the message, Harry replies with a returning **_Hey._ **

Peter begins to panic for a moment, his brain working into overdrive, thinking rapidly, _I didn’t think I’d get this far. Quick, Peter, think…_ He types out the first opening he can think of.

**_what do you call it when spider-man does a backflip??_ **

He mentally kicks himself. He’d panicked and gone straight for the poor joke about _himself._ Luckily for him, Harry was still replying. Out of politeness or actual genuine interest in being good friends with Peter, he couldn’t be sure. **_I don’t know, what do you call it?_ **

**_aracnobatics._ ** Peter typed back quickly. He had to fight the urge to laugh at his own terrible joke.

 _This is it,_ Peter thinks, _this is the part where he realises what a loser I am._

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry suddenly realised that he didn’t know how to text properly. Not in the way that he didn’t know how to spell or type, but in the way that he didn’t really know text _etiquette,_ if it could be called that.

 _How am I supposed to respond to a joke?_ Harry thinks to himself, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t really come to the conclusion that he couldn’t exactly laugh out loud like he could in a regular conversation. The joke _was_ funny, in a sort of lame way. The kind of joke that a twelve-year-old might tell at the dinner table and causes people to laugh because of the how _pathetic_ the joke was.

**_Haha._ **

He sends it. A moment goes past, and then another, and he wonders where Peter went.

 **_Speaking of Spider-Man…_ ** Harry types out, trying to diffuse any tension he might’ve caused accidentally, **_I met him today._ **

**_oh??_ ** Peter replies, instantaneously.

Peter then adds a **_what did he want??_ **

**_He said you sent him actually._ **

The _seen_ receipt appears under his message, and then a typing bubble appears. _@petebparker is typing…_

**_what did you think of him??_ **

Harry thinks for a moment. What _did_ he think of Spider-Man? It was all a bit of a blur, in all honesty. He thinks about what he talked about with him, and wonders momentarily if Spider-Man had told Peter about anything they’d talked about. He pushes that thought to the side. 

 

...

「◆」

...

 

**_Shorter than I expected._ **

Peter wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. It wasn’t the first time that someone had said that he was shorter than expected, or sounding younger than they’d expected, but it was usually just an offhand comment from a pedestrian in shock after having their bike stolen/losing their keys/their cat getting stuck in a tree. Or at least, that was how Peter liked to rationalise it. He wasn’t even _short._ He was just _incredibly_ average, as he frequently liked to point out to a certain Michelle Jones every time her five-ten self decides to make a quip about his height.  

 **_he’s my height!_ ** Peter replies to Harry in protest.

 **_Shorter than I expected._ ** Harry repeats, comedically. Peter scoffs aloud, before quickly muffling his sounds with his hand. Too late, he hears his Aunt May call from the next room.

“Peter! You better be asleep! If I have to confiscate that phone…”

Peter stays quiet and still, and May’s voice dies down. He bites his lip to be sure he doesn’t make a sound.

 **_rude :(_ ** he types out to Harry. He’s finding it surprisingly easier to talk to Harry now. His anxieties have muted to a light throb rather than an all consuming _mess_ like it had before.

 **_:)_ ** Harry replies. Before Peter can text back, Harry changes the topic.  


**_Can I ask you something?_ **

_‘Can I ask you something?’_ in Peter’s mind was probably up there as one of the top ten worst texts to receive from someone, up there with _‘k.’_ and _‘I know your secret’_ (the latter of which he’d received from MJ once at three in the morning and had almost given Peter a heart attack. It turned out she’d discovered he hated cats and had decided to ‘disown’ him for it.)

**_uhhh sure_ **

The message Harry is typing is long. The little typing bubble bobs up and down on Peter’s screen for what feels like forever, and Peter’s heart rate accelerates by what feels to him to be a thousand beats per second.

**_Okay. So I might’ve mentioned you to my father, and now he insists you come to dinner. I tried to get out of it, but he just… won’t budge. So I was wondering if you would possibly maybe come to dinner on Thursday?_ **

Peter noticed that Harry typed as if he was speaking aloud, however, the Harry here seemed a lot less confident than the one Peter had met just over twelve hours ago. This one was calculating, worried than Peter was going to judge him. Worried he was going to get mad at a dinner invite. Worried he was going to turn the invite down and… and face his father about it tomorrow morning. If what Peter had witnessed earlier in the day as Spider-Man was any indication, Harry and his father had a _very_ complicated relationship.

**_sounds good._ **

**_Thank you._ ** Harry replies, and then another message. **_I’m going to sleep now. See you at school tomorrow._ **

_**gn.**_ Peter says.

Peter puts his phone back on his bedside table, switches the light off and rolls back onto his side, closing his eyes.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

"Shall we tell Mister Osborn?" Lowell asked Mei over her desk. He sat opposite her in a desk chair, watching the miracle mouse as it walked around its new cage. David Lowell was, in Mei's honest opinion, quite brilliant. He subverted her expectations time and time again. It would be frankly  _easy_ to assume that he was your average ex-sports star. He had the bulk and the looks, for sure; but he was also smart and dedicated... and utterly devoted to impressing Norman Osborn.

"No," Mei replied, simply. She'd analysed the mouse dozens of times, and it had not presented any negative drawbacks. On the contrary, the mouse had only seemed to have gotten  _stronger._ Mei could've only imagined how purely  _comical_ it must've been when she'd sent Lowell to buy a stronger cage.

"Why not?" Lowell continued to watch the mouse as it ate a piece of lettuce. Mei tutted slightly.

"I've worked with Norman Osborn for twenty years," she began, simply, "he's a very clever man. But he's also rash. He'd insist we'd jump straight into human testing when I'm not even certain the mouse isn't going to react badly."

"Rash, how?" Lowell asked, genuinely curious. He, unlike Mei Stromm, had not had the privilege of interacting with Norman Osborn so freely.

"Well," she lowered her voice, "he fired Curt Connors five years ago under the grounds that, after Doctor Connor's loss of limb, he couldn't possibly afford to keep him on as a scientist."

Lowell scowled slightly. "But Doctor Curt Connors is an  _award-winning–"_

"Exactly." Mei leaned back in her chair. "He doesn't have a single open-minded thought in his brain."

Lowell bit his lip, redirecting his attention from the mouse to Mei. Her hair had been so delicately put into a knot on the top of her head before, but now it was stray around her face. She looked  _exhausted._ Eight years of working on this project; eight years of hardship; eight years of Norman Osborn.

Lowell hadn't  _always_ worked at  _Oscorp._ He remembered the day, one year ago, when he'd suddenly found himself out of work. He'd been working for  _Pym Technologies_ when suddenly the entire company was disbanded upon Hank Pym and his daughter having a run-in with the law. He was an over-qualified scientist, struggling to find any work, when Norman Osborn had offered him a job, to which he would be forever grateful. Still, if what Mei said was true...

"Don't scientists  _need_ to be open-minded?" Lowell said, suddenly. Mei looked up at him.

"You'd think so, but... no." Mei sighed. "Doctor Connors is fine, though. I hear he's a professor now, teaching students at  _Empire State University."_

"Still," Lowell swallows. There's silence between them. The miracle mouse squeaks.

 

 

 

 


	6. Mister Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Not funny, Kid. I know you wanna save the world, and everyone in it. But sometimes you just gotta sit this one out.” ___  
>  _There’s a pregnant silence, and Peter regrets calling Tony at all._   
> 

“Mister Stark,” Peter speaks down into his phone, “How are you supposed to dress when you’re going to dinner at a genius’ house? Asking for a friend.”

Peter can hear Tony’s muffled voice through the speaker, and Peter realises that Tony is eating. _“What, you coming over, Kid?”_

“No, no, uh…” Peter says, “I’m uhh… going to Norman Osborn’s house tonight. For dinner.”

 _“What?”_ Tony’s voice raises a fragment louder, _“Why’s that?”_

“Oh, uh, forgot to tell you. I’m kinda maybe friends with his son.”

Tony’s silent for a moment, and Peter can almost visualise Mister Stark pinching his nose with his eyes shut. Sure enough, a moment later he hears Tony sigh – a pretty solid indicator that Peter was correct. _“Norman Osborn is tyrant. Treats his enemies, friends, and workers like they’re one-in-the-same. Trash. You don’t wanna mix with him.”_

“No disrespect, Mister Stark, but that’s _why_ I have to go to dinner with him.”

 _“Look, Pete,”_ Peter notices for the first time that Mister Stark used his name, _“you’re a good kid. But I don’t want you mixing up with that shit. What do you think he’d say if he found out you were my-”_ he pauses, _“protégé.”_

Peter could’ve sworn Tony had been about to say something else – but no matter.

“Uh…” he starts, “‘Good luck’?”

_“Not funny, Kid. I know you wanna save the world, and everyone in it. But sometimes you just gotta sit this one out.”_

There’s a pregnant silence, and Peter regrets calling Tony at all.

“Osborn’s son – my friend Harry. I visited him as Spider-Man the other day,” Peter begins, “because he seemed… I don’t know. I think he’s scared of his dad.”

Tony exhales into the speakerphone, and Peter continues speaking.

 _“That’s_ why I have to go, Mister Stark. Harry’s counting on me.”

 _“I…”_ For the first time in the year that Peter had known him, Tony Stark was lost for words.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Tony remembered being sixteen. He remembered walking into his father’s study, his head held high, determined to for _once_ get some kind of sense of _pride_ from the enigma that was Howard Stark.  _You know, I’ve been told I’m well on my way to graduate with_ _summa cum laude-_ _  
_

_That’s nice, Tony._ His father barely looked up from his work, and Tony wondered why he bothered anymore.

 _"I don’t know. I think he’s scared of his dad."_ Peter said of Norman Osborn’s son, Harry and Tony racked his brain to try to put a face to the name. A boy, too well dressed for his age, his face slack with the weight of too much and the boy probably doesn’t realise what that _too much_ is, in the background of Norman’s press photos, in pictures taken by the paparazzi…

Tony exhales, a lump caught in his throat as he remembers _being_ Harry Osborn.

 _“That’s why I have to go, Mister Stark. Harry’s counting on me.”_ Tony bites the inside of his mouth. Peter Parker was far too kind for his own good.

“I-” Tony begins, but he can’t find the words.

 _“I’m going no matter what you say, Mister Stark,”_ Peter says, _“I was just… hoping you could tell me what to wear. If you can’t, then that’s… fine. I’ll ask May. Yeah. She’ll know-”_ He was rambling now.

“Kid,” Tony finally says, “Wear the nicest thing you can.”

 _“Thanks, Mister Stark.”_ Peter hangs up the phone. The call ends, and Tony wonders what Peter’s gotten himself into.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Norman’s study was lit dimly, appearing almost foreboding. The dark wooden desk with matching bookcases that rise high above the size of a normal man. As with every other room in the Osborn household, there were large scale windows overlooking the city. Norman leaned against his throne-like swivel chair like a king sitting comfortably in his castle. His back was to the city, the bright lights outside illuminating around his hair like a halo. But Norman Osborn was no angel – far from it. His hands swiped along the touchscreen on his desk. A keypad lit up on the screen requesting for the password. His long fingers input the password like clockwork. The _Oscorp_ logo – _Oscorp Industries_ written in thin, white writing with a multicoloured, almost kaleidoscopic rainbow circling the words – flashes on the screen for a moment, before fading away.

 _Welcome, Norman Osborn,_  the text lights up the screen. That text, too, fades away to reveal the company’s homescreen.

He taps a small symbol in the corner that looks like a camera. A small box appears and Norman types into it a code, and black and white footage of a laboratory pops up on the screen. To the side of the video is a number of statistics. He scowls at the readings.

His hands move, antsy, across the keyboard.  _Surely_ not.  _Surely_   _his project wouldn't be kept a secret from him._

But there the results were, clear as day.  _Animal Testing: Success._ Norman exhaled deeply as he looked through the reports. They'd had these since  _Monday. Monday._ Two entire days, and he hadn't received a single word.

This was  _his_ project.  _His._ He'd first thought of it following the  _Tony Stark_ debacle. Tony Stark was, after all, a man. A man with a suit; and should be treated as such. He didn't deserve the same praise as those who came before him, those who were more  _powerful_ before him. So Norman had looked to Captain America – the super soldier, the symbol for hope itself. Justice personified.  _How could he replicate this?_

And so, he established his secret project. His project, which seemed, was having the details kept from him. 

 _No matter,_ Norman thought,  _I'll see to it that this shall not happen again._

 

 

 

 


	7. Stranger Things Have Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry about that,” Harry says, completely and sincerely apologetic, “He does that a lot I just thought… I thought he’d actually remember something as simple as something he insisted was organised. If you want, you can… you can go.”  
> “It’s fine,” Peter says, “I can stay. If you want.”

The inky black darkness of the night was cut through by all the lights of the city, creeping in through the large windows of the Osborn’s penthouse. Harry sits on the couch, smartly dressed in a white button-up and a black blazer. His leg bobs up and down as the anxiety eats away at him. He just _can’t stop fidgeting._

His father enters the room, looking just as sophisticated and borderline _terrifying_ as ever. Norman fixes the cuffs of his jacket, adding to the effect. “Harry, I’ll be out late tonight. We hit a major breakthrough and it must be attended to immediately.”

Harry stood up quickly, “But… you said… you said Peter would be joining us for dinner tonight!”

“Did I? Hmm…” Norman says, bored, “I don’t remember.”

“You were _very_ explicit about it,” Harry says, simultaneously feeling both relieved and disappointed. His father was _always_ working.

“Oh well, I seem to have forgotten.”

Harry fought the urge to fight back. If _he’d_ forgotten something like that, his father would make his life a living hell for a month. Norman checks his watch. “I best be off.”

The elevator dings and the doors open to reveal a familiar someone. Peter’s hair looked like it had been attemptedly smoothed out with water. His clothes, while not particularly extravagant, were much neater than his usual outfits. Simple teal shirt, with a black jacket and matching cuffed jeans.

He looks between the father and son duo. Norman looked calm, however bored. Harry, on the other hand, appeared visibly tense. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, I was just heading out,” Norman says.

Peter frowns. “Heading out? But-”

“He forgot,” Harry manages through clenched teeth.

Peter swallows, hard. Looking up at Norman Osborn, he could see why perhaps Harry was intimidated by him. “Oh.”

Norman approaches Peter and shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Peter. Now, I have work to attend to,” he looks towards Harry, “Don’t make a mess.”

Harry looks down to the ground and bites his lip. Norman steps into the elevator, and the metal doors close again. Peter stands there, shifting awkwardly in his jacket that he’d borrowed from Aunt May.

“Sorry about that,” Harry says, completely and sincerely apologetic, “He does that a lot I just thought… I thought he’d actually remember something as simple as something _he_ insisted was organised. If you want, you can… you can go.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says, “I can stay. If you want.”

“Only if _you_ want,” Harry replies.

Silence falls between them. One moment, two –

“Do you have _Netflix?”_ Peter asks, suddenly.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t really… use it though.”

Peter frowns, tilting his head back slightly. His voice raises an octave as he says, “What?”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter takes control of the remote almost immediately. He opens to Harry's  _Netflix_ profile, and, as Harry had previously said, the profile was mostly bare. In his  _Continue Watching,_ there were only three things.  _How I Met Your Mother,_ which Harry appeared to be about half-way through, two episodes of  _The IT Crowd,_ and  _Gossip Girl._

"I've never seen  _Gossip Girl,"_ Peter says without a trace of humour in his voice. Harry shrugs. "I've seen it about five times over."

"Five...  _five times?"_ Peter repeats, checking he'd heard correctly.

"I get really bored and like to stick to what I know," Harry explains simply.

"Oh, well... you've gotta try something new," Peter perks up.

He scrolls through the _Netflix_ menu screen. He stumbles across  _Stranger Things._ It only had a single season. Harry had heard of it.

 _“Stranger Things_ gives me eighties nostalgia,” Peter says.

“You were born in 2001,” Harry replies.

Peter pauses for a moment before saying, “Well… I _can still have eighties nostalgia,_ okay?”

Harry frowns, “Whatever you say. Put it on.”

  
Peter clicks the remote to select the title, and the loading screen comes up in preparation for the first episode. “You’ll love it. Probably. Everyone loves it.”

“You really like this stuff, don’t you?” Harry says, fighting back a smile.

“I just… like movies and stuff.” Peter supplies.

Harry lets out a faint laugh and looks down, “You’re such a nerd. I mean that in a good way.”

“I know.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The click of dress shoes against hard floor echoes as he walks down the hall. His very presence exudes power. Then, he stops just outside of a door. He pulls a keycard from his pocket and swipes it against the scanner. It beeps twice, and the door slides open. The man returns his keycard to his pocket and enters, the door closing shut behind him.

Inside is a circular laboratory, with ten scientists milling around. Geneticists, specifically. They scramble to their stations as the man enters. In the centre of the room is a cylindrical tank that travels three-quarters of the way to the ceiling, before branching out into smaller segments. Several metal work benches are dotted evenly around the white room.  
  
Mei Stromm approaches Norman. "Mister Osborn, what are you–"

"You've been keeping secrets from me, Doctor Stromm," Norman says mirthlessly.

"No secrets, sir–"

"Do not lie to me," the steadiness in Norman's voice is weighted with venom. "I know you've succeeded at animal testing, and yet you tell me  _nothing."_

"Sir, if I may–" Mei attempts to interject. Norman's voice raises in volume.

“Silence!” he shouts. “Ten years.  _Ten years,_ Tony Stark has had an edge over me. Over  _everyone._ But not today. He is a mere man, powered by his suit. He is given praise where he deserves none." He rests his arms behind his back, his mood whiplashing from how it had been just moments ago.

He approaches the cylindrical tank, in which is a serum of green liquid. Norman watches as the liquid travels around the tank. The light bounces off, reflecting to have his face appear to be green.

Doctor Lowell moves to Norman’s side. "Mister Osborn, you understand that we don't think the serum is ready for human testing–"

"Did you model it off of Abraham Erskine's original formula?" Norman ignores Lowell's statement.

Lowell bites his lip. "Well, er, yes sir–"

“Excellent,” Norman says. He reaches for his blazer and shrugs it off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor. He then reaches to his shirt. He begins unbuttoning it.

"Mister Osborn," Mei says in alarm, "What are you doing?"

"I am the CEO of  _Oscorp._ I am the reason all this has come... I hereby demand that human testing begins now."

His shirt drops to the floor. Many of the geneticists stand back, confused by Norman's actions.

"What are you waiting for?" he speaks to two men. They quickly snap out of their confused state and begin preparing the serum for injection. They line up a tube to a large pipe and press a button. Soon the tube fills with the green liquid.

He turns to the men and pulls the serum, now in a needle, from them.

Mei swallows. “Sir, you should really take some proper precautio-”

He inserts the needle into his forearm, piercing the skin and entering his veins. He closes his eyes as he injects the serum into his body. His jaw tenses. The veins in his arms and neck become more pronounced under his skin. The needle falls from his hands and, in a sudden moment, Norman collapses.

Several Geneticists move closer to see if Norman is alright. Mei watches him apprehensively.  _If only he'd listened to her._ “Mister Osborn?”  
She taps his shoulder, to no response. She exhales. Norman Osborn, the brilliant man himself, seemed to be... dead. She steps closer, placing her index and middle finger to his temple in an attempt to gage a heartbeat.

He reaches out an arm to her throat and begins to stand. She struggles against his strength as he proceeds to press his fingers into her windpipe. His hands grasp a tighter hold. Everyone stands, too shocked to move or speak. Mei's eyes widen and fill with tears as her vision clouds. Her blood flow is cut off, and she hangs limp in his hands. He drops her to the ground without remorse.

“Monster…” Lowell says.

“Goblin,” he corrects. He lurches forward, intending to leave a trail of ten bodies in his wake.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Alarms sound, shaking Tony awake. He turns to check the time on the clock – midnight. Pepper stirs beside him, finally opening her eyes. He jumps out of bed in a rush, flings his bedroom door open, and runs down the hallway.

“Tony! What’s happening?” he hears Pepper call after him.

“I don’t know!” he calls back.

He flings open the door to the control room, and quickly begins bringing up views from every security camera at the facility. His eyes move around, searching for something, anything, on one of the screens. Nothing, nothing, nothing…

Tony runs his fingers through his hair, stressed. He quickly begins looking through his equipment list, anything at all, to give an indication on what he should be looking for. Everything appears to be in order, that is – until Tony notices what’s missing. An old glider, a suit…

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The credits roll for the last episode of the first season, and Harry’s eyes are straining. Peter, however, looks just as awake as ever. Harry peels himself off of the couch for the first time in eight hours, and hits the lights back on. They both blink away at the brightness.

“So!” Peter says, enthusiastically – far too enthusiastically for midnight, especially for someone who had school in just over six hours, “Did you like it?”

“Definitely,” Harry said, too tired to give a better response. He yawns, causing Peter too yawn too as a chain reaction.

“You know, at this point you could just sleep over.”

“Well, I can’t exactly walk home,” he replied. Harry looked down at Peter’s clothes; he was still wearing his outfit intended for dinner.

“I think I have some spare pyjamas you could borrow,” Harry offers, “wait there.”

Peter smiles and offers a small, joking salute in response. Harry leaves him alone in the living room.

Peter hadn’t really properly looked around before now. Norman Osborn appeared to have a bit of a red-white-and-black theme running through the living room. The floor was tiled with what looked to Peter to be marble, but he couldn’t really tell you if it was. The wall on which the elevator was situated was red, matching the couch well. The rug, and the opposing wall to the elevator was black, though the wall was _mostly_ glass anyway, due to it being a window opening up to overlook the city. Directly above those windows was a portrait that Peter hadn’t really taken the time to look at. He could recognise Norman, cold demeanor and all; and he could also recognise Harry, albeit him being about three years younger. It was the woman that fascinated him the most. She was very pretty, with dark-blonde hair cut into a pixie cut. She wore a green dress and had a smile planted on her face as she looked down at young Harry.

“She died,” came Harry’s voice. He’d re-entered, wearing his own simple pyjamas with another pair in his hand for Peter. “About a year ago. She uh…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Peter interjected.

“I want to,” Harry pauses for a moment, “My mother had been struggling with depression all her life pretty much. She’d taken medication after medication, had therapy… my father kept it hushed up, of course.” He felt as though his throat was tightening as he spoke.

“One day she just… she overdosed. My father said it was an accident. But I know better.” There’s a certain hint of malice in his voice as he speaks about his father.

“Sometimes I wonder if my dad likes me,” Harry says, almost as if he’s thinking out loud, “If he liked either me or my mother. Sometimes I think it’s all for appearances.” He looks up at the portrait longingly. He sighs.

“We’ve got school tomorrow,” Harry says, changing the subject suddenly, “We should sleep. You can sleep in the guest room?”

“Yeah…” Peter manages. He looks up at the portrait for another moment, hoping Missus Osborn’s fate isn’t in the cards for Harry, too.


	8. The Stark Internship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepper bites her lip, contemplative. “You really care about him, don’t you?”  
> Tony sighs, stepping closer to Pepper. “He’s a good kid. I don’t want to see him get hurt just because the grown-ups couldn’t do their jobs.”

“Why’re you guys so tired? Is Norman Osborn _that_ bad? Did he make you stay up all night as a form of torture? That _monster-”_ Ned began as Peter and Harry approached him at his locker.

“We watched the entire first season of _Stranger Things,”_ Peter informed Ned.

 _“Lucky,”_ Ned sighed, closing his locker, “I had to visit my grandma. I love her but she kept telling me that same story, you know-”

“The one where she said she lost her virginity to Howard Stark-”

“That’s the one,” Ned confirmed.

The three walk down the halls, bunched fairly close together as so not to be separated by the numerous amounts of people milling about.

Peter snorts, “Maybe we should take your grandmother to meet Mister Stark.”

Harry looks between Ned and Peter, “You know Tony Stark?”

Ned looks at Harry, and then Peter, disbelieving, “You haven’t told him about the Stark internship?”

“You intern for Tony Stark?” Harry says, surprised. Peter tilts his head slightly to the side, “It’s not as fun as it sounds. Basically hogs up all my nights.”

“You took a night off of working for _Tony Stark_ to see me?”

“I’ve been interning for him for like a year, it’s fine,” Peter shrugged, “he’s actually the one who told me what to wear.”

“Is he nice?” Harry asked, genuinely curious. He’d only heard things that his father had said.

“He pretends not to be,” Peter said, “But I could’ve _sworn_ he called me ‘Pete’ the other day.” Peter’s also sure that Tony had been on the verge of calling him _son_ on their phone call yesterday, but that was something he wanted to keep to himself.

“Didn’t he offer you a scholarship to MIT?” Ned asked, though he already knew, _“And_ he asked you to live with him–”

Harry stared at Peter incredulously, “Okay, first of all, Tony Stark, aka the genius himself, who went to MIT, thinks you’re good enough for MIT? _Dude,_ I… I don’t even know what to _say_ to that. Secondly, he asked you to _live with him?_ At _Avengers Headquarters?”_

“Well, uh,” Peter stumbles, “When you say it like _that_ it sounds impressive…”

He shoots Ned a _look,_ and Ned shrugs apologetically at Peter.

“It _is_ impressive, I can’t believe I’m _friends_ with yo-” Harry stops himself, “that is, if we _are_ friends. Like, proper, friends.”

They stopped outside Harry’s classroom – he had English next period, which is Harry’s mind was his only _decent_ subject. He was fairly competent at a regular school, he supposed, but Midtown’s genius students happened to be a little out of his intellectual range, and they could _definitely_ tell he wasn’t supposed to be here if it weren’t for Norman Osborn’s influence.

“Why _wouldn’t_ we be friends?” Peter asked, “I literally wore your pyjamas last night.”

A girl entering Harry’s class sends a strange look in Peter’s direction, and Ned frowned as if trying to unpack what Peter just said.

“I meant I borrowed a pair of his pyjamas to sleep over in. Jesus, Ned. Get your head out of the gutter,” Peter scoffed. Ned said nothing, simply smiling as though he were completely innocent.

“Well it’s just… you know,” Harry says, ignoring the innuendo, “After today you don’t have to be my student guide anymore, so I just thought that… well there was a part of me that thought you were just being _nice-”_

Peter Parker found that awkward Harry Osborn was a like a rare cryptid. There wasn’t much proof it existed, and most people didn’t believe in it. But Peter had had the indulgence of seeing it _multiple_ times in the last week that he’d known Harry, and it was honestly the strangest experience. _Peter_ was used to being the awkward one in most situations. It felt bizarre when the other person rose to that challenge, especially one of Harry’s status.

“We _like you,_ Harry,” Ned says, affirmingly. “Wait, I know!”

Ned’s face brightens like he’s just thought of something to rival Einstein.

“Harry, you’ve never seen _Star Wars,_ right?”

Harry shrugs, “I’ve seen two of them–”

“Anyway,” Ned cuts over, “We should have a sleepover at Peter’s house and watch every Star Wars movie–”

“In the spoiler-free order!” Peter adds.

Harry watches them, silently nodding, “I have no idea what that is, but sure.”

“Be dressed to watch seventeen hours worth of _Star Wars,”_ Ned says, enthusiastically.

Peter shakes his head, “Can’t do it tonight. Gotta help May with the cooking tonight.”

Ned smiles fondly, “I love May, she’s a national treasure.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

He laid on the damp concrete, attempting to sleep despite the large amount of noise bouncing around the room from the rather loud conversation. They were arguing in English, and while Aleksei could understand it, he was far too tired to concentrate enough on the sentences to string the meaning in his mind together properly. Something about their endorser offering money to whoever does some task or other. It was always the same. Some rich man up with his fancy house and cars would slip them money in return for them to do his dirty work. Aleksei could admit, it was smart. The anonymous man didn't want to place his fingerprints over the scene. Aleksei could respect that. 

"Sytsevich," Lobo calls for him. Aleksei doesn't budge, deciding his position on the floor was surprisingly comfortable. He can hear the tapping of dress shoes on the concrete as he moves closer to Aleksei, eventually kicking him in the side.

"You deaf and stupid?" Lobo taps the cigar in his hand, dropping bits of ash down onto Aleksei. Aleksei looks up at Lobo.

"Our myster'os buyer has a li'l job for you."

Aleksei sits up. "What do I have to do?"

"Easy. You gotta rob  _Oscorp."_

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Tony Stark had been pacing backwards and forwards for over an hour, a mix of anxiety and caffeine taking over him.

“Do you think we should tell the kid?” Pepper asks, “It could do some good to have someone on the ground. We know whoever this person is that stole all that tech is from New York City. There’s not much we can do while Upstate if we find we need to take immediate action.”

Tony swallows and presses his middle and index finger to his temple, rubbing the side of his head gently. “No,” He pauses to think, “No, he’s got enough to deal with right now.”

“But what if this guy starts targeting him. Either as Peter or as Spider-Man. It’s not exactly a secret that Peter’s your protégé, and Spider-Man’s been a target before. It’s not out of the realm of possibili-”

“We’re not getting Peter involved and that’s final!” Tony’s voice raises louder than it had been previously.  
Pepper bites her lip, contemplative. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

Tony sighs, stepping closer to Pepper. “He’s a good kid. I don’t want to see him get hurt just because the grown-ups couldn’t do their jobs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tony's dad mode just activated


	9. Resentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know, this is probably the first conversation I’ve ever had with you,” Harry stubs his cigarette against the pole before tossing it onto the road, “and it’s about a dead cocaine addict.”  
> Michelle deadpans. “I only have the most intellectually stimulating conversations, as you can tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for norman's section: domestic violence

Harry leaned against the pole outside the school’s entrance, his hands twiddling a cigarette between his fingers. Peter had been quick to run off as the bell rang, to which Ned had explained was due to the Stark internship – suddenly, Peter’s busy schedule seemed to make much more sense. Ned sat on grass beside the pole with his legs crossed and his hands placed on his knees. Harry couldn’t help but think that, with his small school bag, that he looked awfully like an overgrown eight-year-old. Ned coughed slightly.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked,” Harry said, “do you mind if I-”

Ned shrugged. “My uncle smokes like four packs a day, it’s fine.”

Silence fell between them as Harry realised that, without Peter to bridge the gap, there wasn’t really much for Ned and Harry to talk about.

“You know, in my psychology class we learned that… well, Freud thought that… people who smoke are usually orally fixated because they didn’t get enough attention when they were being breastfed.” Ned said in an attempt to break the awkward tension.

Harry placed the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag. “I believe it,” he stated as he withdrew the cigarette from his mouth.

“Hey, losers!” a voice calls from behind them. From the steps walks a girl, about as tall as Harry, with a mess of brown hair tied back into a loose ponytail. She had a book hooked under her arm and a hard instrument case by her side.

Ned groaned loudly, though in an obviously teasing manner. “Hey, MJ.”

Harry recognised her from lunch, and Peter's Instagram – she sat not too far from Ned and Peter, usually engaged in some sort of book. She hardly spoke, except maybe once or twice to mock either Ned or Peter (usually the latter)

“Heard you talking Freud. Thought you knew better than that, Ned. In this household, we don’t quote coke addicts,” Michelle says nonchalantly.

“I didn’t say I _believe_ it,” Ned replies defensively.

Harry frowns. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Freud’s a crackhead. Keep up,” Michelle speaks casually, adding a smile.

“You know, this is probably the first conversation I’ve ever had with you,” Harry stubs his cigarette against the pole before tossing it onto the road, “and it’s about a dead cocaine addict.”

Michelle deadpans. “I only have the most intellectually stimulating conversations, as you can tell.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

For the first time in Harry’s life, he arrived from school to see his father was home, seated on the balcony. He was watching the New York skyline, his mouth pressed into a straight line, emotionless. Harry slid the strap of his bag down his shoulder and it hit the floor with a slide _thud._ He approached his father slowly, making sure not to potentially upset him.

“Father,” Harry spoke, his voice slightly raspy.

Norman had seemed unaware of Harry’s presence despite the noise, only becoming alert at the sound of Harry’s voice. “Hm, what?”

“Are you okay? You’re not usually home this early."

Norman took an intake of air, his shoulders raising. He exhales. “I’m fine, Harry.”

The atmosphere felt tense. Harry realised he had hardly ever had a conversation with his father in his whole sixteen years of life. He couldn’t even name a single one of his father’s interests, aside from working and mocking him. Norman had always been ever calculating, cogs whirring behind glazed eyes as he feigned interest in Harry, only caring when suddenly Harry did something that could reflect badly on him and his image.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, genuinely concerned for his father.

“I said I’m _fine,_ Harry,” Norman spits. He doesn’t even look at Harry. “And take a shower. You reek of smoke.”

 _More like not enough attention from birth to present,_ Harry thinks back to his conversation with Ned. Sometimes it’s hard not to be resentful. 

 

...

「◆」

...

 

When Norman Osborn had been a boy, his father would have what Norman would refer to in his mind as _temper tantrums._ Brutal ones. The kind that had young Norman showing up to school with a bruise gracing his pale cheek and when adults would ask him about it he would mutter a soft  _"I fell."_  

His father was resentful, to the highest degree, towards his misfortunes. His father had failed where Norman had succeeded. He'd  _tried_ so  _hard,_ to establish his business. A business that was doomed from the start. Ambrose Osborn was  _weak._   _He'd_ succumbed to alcoholism... drug addiction... as if any  _good_ Osborn man would fall prey to such simplicities.

 _"Come 'ere, Normie,"_ his father would call as Norman hid himself where ever he could fit. Young Norman Osborn would wonder if the other little boys were scared of their fathers the way Norman was. He wondered if other boys would cram themselves into tight spaces in an attempt to place  _some_ kind of seperation between themselves and  _him._ He wondered if other boys even had a  _him._

He slipped into the basement, too fearful of his father finding him to both with the light. His fear of his father temporarily overcame his fear of the dark. The boards of the steps creaked underneath his feet and his heart throbbed so hard he could've sworn he could feel it coming out of his back. His blood felt as though it had run cold and his fingertips were like ice. Norman's breathing quickened as he lowered himself further into the basement, the sound of his father upstairs growing distant. 

His heart lurches out of his chest as he looks into the pitch blackness. He blinks and swears he could see movement. A large, green man lurked in the shadows. He looked positively grotesque... he looked like a goblin.

Young Norman blinked again and the man was gone, but he'd always lurked at the back of his mind. Soon, dreams of his father was replaced by dreams of the goblin. Dreams of him coming towards him. Dreams of him treating him the same way his father had. He'd toss in his sleep and be shaken awake by Emily. But Emily wasn't here anymore, and the goblin was here to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ned: u smoke bc ur parents don't love u  
> harry: yeet


	10. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hand hovers over the door as he pauses, anxious to knock. He takes a breath.
> 
>  
> 
> _Tap tap tap. ___
> 
> __  
> _There’s silence for a moment. Harry wonders if perhaps he’d gotten the wrong address – or worse, had been given the wrong address_  
> 

 

Harry’s heart thunders in his chest as he turns onto 15th Street. In his entire sixteen years of life, he’d never once had a _sleepover._ Not in this sense. Not in the sense that he went over to a friend’s house and they watched a movie and gorged themselves on food. He’s _slept over_ places, for sure. Sofas after a fight with his dad. Bathtubs after a particularly wild party. Various random people’s beds after a blurry night of Harry numbing every sense he had despite ever fibre of his body telling him not to.

His hand hovers over the door as he pauses, anxious to knock. He takes a breath.

_Tap tap tap._

There’s silence for a moment. Harry wonders if perhaps he’d gotten the wrong address – or worse, had been _given_ the wrong address – when he hears footsteps behind the door. He hears a muffled voice, a woman shouting something that sounded an awful lot like _“Peter!”_

There was an exasperated a sigh as footsteps approached the door, growing louder, before the door swings open. In the doorway stands a woman, shorter than Harry by maybe five inches. Harry approximates her to look around his father’s age, give or take a few years. Her skin is tan and her hair is a light brown, coming all the way down to her waist. There’s something very maternal in her expression and the way she holds herself, something Harry couldn’t quite pick out.

“Hi, you must be Harry,” she steps aside to allow Harry inside. He steps inside the apartment and quickly notices that it’s quite small, but well decorated. It looked like a homely _IKEA_ showroom.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!” May calls down the hall. She waits a moment, listening out for a response, before turning to Harry in a softer voice, “he’s in his room, let me show you-”

She guided Harry inside properly, closing the front door. The opening leads directly into the hallway. On the walls were pictures. Many of them were of Peter growing up. Harry didn’t think his own father bothered with such things. May guides Harry down the hall a little bit. May knocked lightly on the door, not waiting for a response before opening it.

Inside, Peter sits with his legs up on his desk and his laptop sitting on his knees. When he sees May, he quickly readjusts his feet to remove them from the desk and places his laptop back on the desk.

“That’s what I thought,” May said snarkily in response to this action. She then moves out of the way to reveal Harry. “Harry’s here.”

Peter closed his bedroom door behind Harry to give them more space. Silence filled the room as Harry looked around. Peter’s bedroom walls were grey, but under the yellow light appeared almost green. On Harry’s right side, against the same wall as the door was a medium-sized cabinet, in which had a collection of graphic novels and several books. On top was a fully-built LEGO Death Star, and Harry couldn’t help but smile internally at Peter’s frank _nerdiness._ Above that is a shelf built into the wall, and a frame with a picture in which Ned was dressed as a Filipino Batman, with Peter as a curly-haired Robin. Against the other wall was a corner desk, which had a rather expensive-looking chessboard on top of it. The desk also had a built-in shelving unit, which seemed to hold all of Peter’s _Star Wars_ memorabilia.

Peter sat on the bottom bunk of his bed, smiling awkwardly as Harry looked around the room.

“It’s probably a lot less than you’re used to. I probably look like dirt to you,” Peter says, unthinking.

“Why would you be dirt to me?” Harry replies.

Peter looks down, “Well, uh… my Aunt May – you met her – she’s not exactly in the _best_ financial situation. And I know my apartment’s kinda small but-”

“I like it. My house is… too clean. Like no one’s supposed to even live in it. But here it feels… lived in, y’know? I can feel the love as soon as I stepped in the door.”

Peter seemed more than happy with this response. Harry twiddled with his fingers behind his back awkwardly.

His eyesight landed on his bedside table (which was really one of those plastic storage holders you’d buy for young children) on which, was two more picture frames.

One of the pictures looked old, maybe fifteen or twenty years old. In it was a couple. The man was short and well-built, with salt-and-pepper hair, freckles, and circular glasses. The woman was beautiful, with brown hair that curled up at her shoulders and bangs across her forehead. Her skin didn’t seem to have a single imperfection. The two were linked arm-in-arm, well-dressed as though for a special occasion. The man’s suit was white with a black undershirt, while the woman had a well-fitting purple dress.

The second picture seemed much more recent, probably taken in the last five years. This photo featured Peter, a little older than he had appeared in the _Batman and Robin_ picture with Ned. In this he was seated on a man’s lap, a man who had rather large ears and closely-cut hair. He, too, had freckles, and it quickly struck Harry that he was related to the man from the other photograph. The woman was undoubtedly Aunt May, albeit a few years younger and a lot happier.

Harry turned to Peter. “If… you don’t mind me asking… what happened to your parents?”

Peter looked up from the bed at the standing Harry for a moment, before swallowing, biting his lip, then looking away. “They died. I don’t really know how. A plane crash? That’s… that’s what May says.”

Peter looked down at the ground as he spoke.  
“Do you remember them?” Harry asked.  
“Snippets,” Peter replied. “Faint memories. Like, I’ll see a photograph and something in me can attach a memory to it. Or my aunt will tell me a story and I don’t even know if I was there but I can visualise it so well in my head.”

“And sometimes I just… associate things with them without realising. Like I know my mum was a huge fan of _The Beatles._ When I was a kid, I can remember her singing _Blackbird_ to me before I went to bed to try to help me sleep. She had this really… old soul-type voice. Like Audrey Hepburn or something. Old Hollywood.”

He pauses for a moment. “My dad was a scientist. That’s all I know. I don’t know what he specialised in or anything but I know that’s what he did. My uncle – his brother – always thought it was dangerous but I never quite… knew why. My parents died when I was too young to really… know anything.”

“So, my aunt and uncle raised me,” Peter finished.

“Oh? Is your uncle-”

“He died a little over a year ago. Shot by a guy trying to… rob a convenience store. I was there.”

“Peter-”

Peter looked up at Harry, and the Osborn boy could finally see his face. His nose and cheeks were read, and tears ran down his cheeks with even more threatening to spill over.

“It’s fine, I’m…” he takes an intake of air, “I’m fine.”

Harry sat beside Peter on the bottom bunk, and lamely used his thumb to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. Peter’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.

“My Uncle Ben was a huge movie fan. Loved them. He showed me all the classics. His favourite was _Psycho._ We’d watch it…. we’d watch it every year on Hallowe’en from the time I was about eleven. May always told him it was too scary for me.”

Peter leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I… I miss him. We weren’t really… getting along when he died. And I just…” he inhales, and his body shudders as he begins to cry again.

“I miss him a lot.”

Harry wraps his arm around Peter in comfort. Peter wipes under his eyes with his fingers, absorbing the tears. “I’m sorry for this. I just have… a lot going on right now, to be honest.”

His head didn’t move from Harry’s shoulder for about a minute, the two sitting in silence. Harry wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner that Peter never spoke about his parents, not like Ned. Ned would talk about how his mum cooked really well, and how his dad introduced him to _Star Wars._ Peter never did, only ever talking about May.

He tried not to think about how oddly comfortable it was to have Peter leaning on his shoulder. No one had ever shown him such a gesture, a pure symbol of absolute trust. He wondered if Flash Thompson would’ve showed him this compassion, or if he would’ve just become another trophy in a trophy case.

The door opens and in steps Ned, enthusiastically. Harry and Peter jump apart suddenly, and Peter rubs his eyes to hide him having been crying just moments ago.

“I brought my _Star Wars_ pyjamas, guys,” Ned says, “I think we can officially say this sleepover is gonna be the best one ever.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry was seated next to Peter against the couch, who was mindlessly eating his fourth helping of popcorn. For the second time in the last few hours, Harry internalised his smile at Peter’s nerdiness. There was something so undeniably endearing about how he and Ned were transfixed by the screen, despite most likely having seen this movie a dozen times over. Harry sunk underneath the large blanket the three of them were sharing so only really his face was visible, trying to keep his eyes open to continue watching. Peter turned to him and offered him popcorn with a slight gesture to point to the bucket in his hands and a small sound that could have possibly been words if Peter hadn’t stuffed his cheeks with the stuff.  
  
“How do you eat so much?” Harry asked, accepting his offer. He hardly ate anything even mildly unhealthy.

 _“Really_ high metabolism,” Peter says simply. Ned puts his arm out in front of the two of them to shush them. Leia stood facing Han Solo, emotions running high within the scene.

Ned bit his slip as he watched them. Peter took another helping of popcorn.

 _“I love you,”_ Leia says. Peter speaks aloud along to the dialogue. Harry plunges his hand back into the popcorn bucket.

 _“I know,”_ Han replies. Ned joins Peter in saying this line aloud. Harry wonders what Han meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *peter parker voice* ʸᵒᵘ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵒˡᵈ ᵐᵒᵛᶦᵉ, ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵐᵖᶦʳᵉ ˢᵗʳᶦᵏᵉˢ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ?


	11. Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The pictures always last,” a voice behind him says. He turns around to see May with a warm dressing gown over the top of her pyjamas and glasses perched on her nose. Despite her obvious tiredness, she still seemed radiant. Her very presence seemed to soothe Harry.

The sun rose as the final credits for _The Force Awakens_ roll. Peter and Ned can hardly keep their eyes open, but Harry seems perfectly alert, aside from the occasional yawn. Ned leans against the sofa with his feet over Peter’s legs, his eyes slowly closing. Peter’s body is contorted into an odd position, his body facing towards Ned and his head lazily barely touching Harry’s shoulder. Harry watches the two boys for a moment to assure that they truly are asleep. He carefully moves Peter’s head from his shoulder and places him against the sofa. Harry slips from underneath the blankets.

He steps into the kitchen, feeling quite awkward. He looks around. Even in the dead quiet, the Parker residence felt like it was bursting with life. The fridge had alphabet magnets, spelling out _May is the best_ so obviously done by May herself. The fridge also included a flag that Harry recognised to be Italian, several _Star Wars_ themed magnets (of Peter’s choosing, most likely) and finally, a picture. It’s May, and the man from the photo in Peter’s bedroom. He has a wide grin from ear to ear and an arm around May’s shoulders.

“The pictures always last,” a voice behind him says. He turns around to see May with a warm dressing gown over the top of her pyjamas and glasses perched on her nose.

Despite her obvious tiredness, she still seemed radiant. Her very presence seemed to soothe Harry.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry… I hope I didn’t wake you-”

“Shhh, Harry, it’s fine. I wake up every morning at five.” She says this in a half-croaked whisper, partially drowsy from sleep and partially to keep from waking Ned and Peter in the room over. She moves towards the coffee maker and places in a coffee capsule. May puts a mug under the nozzle and the machine wires into life.

Harry swallows, uncomfortable. “What did you mean?” he asks.

The coffee maker finishes dispensing its coffee and May raises the mug to her lips before taking a sip. “What did what mean?”

“You said…” Harry bites his lip awkwardly, “you said, _‘the pictures always last,’_ I was… it’s dumb, I’m sorry-”

May smiled warmly, and Harry couldn’t think of a time in recent memory where someone had looked at him like this. Like a parent.

“You don’t have to keep apologising, y’know,” she takes another sip of her coffee. “I meant, well… pictures are gonna live longer than any human memory. You look at old photographs from fifty years ago, for example. The people who cared can’t remember, but the pictures always will.”

“Is that why Peter takes so many pictures?” he reflects back to Peter’s Instagram profile. Thousands of pictures of everything and anything, and not in the way of your average teenager. He posted endless pictures of his friends, of the scenery, of New York… he could almost feel the total love and passion that went into every frame. May takes another sip of coffee.

“Well, I dunno,” May shrugs slightly, “Pete’s a… he’s a good kid. Deals with so much more than you can imagine.”

Harry doesn’t wish to pry, but he can’t help but feel distinctly curious. He pushes the thought to the back of his mind, choosing instead to sit in the silence. He looks down at the ground. He’s tired, but he know he wouldn’t be able to sleep. May looks up from her cup. “Is something bothering you, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes flicker upward to meet May’s. He sucks on his lower lip for a moment. “I just… I feel bad for dragging Peter into my crap.”

“We’ve all got crap,” May says. The corner of Harry’s lips turn upwards slightly. If he’d said such a thing in front of his father, he would’ve been in for a shock. “The whole point of friends is to help us through that crap.”

“I have a _lot_ of crap,” he says simply. He looks down at the ground again, unable to make eye contact with May. May frowns in earnest concern at the boy who stood before her.

Suddenly, it really hit home with how _young_ Harry truly was, yet his eyes seemed heavy with something she couldn’t quite describe.

“Harry,” worry drips from her voice as she speaks, “your father doesn’t-”

“He doesn’t _hit_ me,” Harry replies quickly, “he just… he’s a hard man to love… I-”

He smiles weakly, “You don’t even know me and I’m just-”  
“It's a bold assumption to make that I don’t know you, Harry,” May cuts over him, “It’s the opposite, really.”

He looks up at her, finally, properly looks at her.

“Peter talks about you _all_ the time. Not always by name, but always _you._ I know you take History class with Peter and that you know everything about The Great Depression in and out. I know you always pick a salad and milk for lunch everyday. I know your favourite colour is yellow and that you called Flash Thompson an asshole on your first day,” she takes a breath. “Peter cares about you very much. And he wants you to be nothing but happy. If part of that happiness means you involving him in your crap, well then, he’ll get involved in your crap.”

Harry tensed his jaw, unsure of what to say. May looks up at him with sad eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You should get some rest.”

Harry looks over at the floor in front of the sofa, where Peter and Ned lay sound asleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plsplsplspls leave comments they honestly fuel me


	12. Oscorp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The current affairs news changes to show Breaking News. Footage of a humanoid figure zooming towards a tall building. Harry immediately recognises it – _Oscorp. ___
> 
> __  
> _“Breaking news, it appears that an attempted robbery of the recently established New York base of _Oscorp Industries _was thwarted by an unknown individual. The saviour is a man with green armour, who arrived at the scene almost immediately. It appears that the robbers were trying to-”___  
> 

Norman Osborn had a brain-splitting migraine, one that felt like it was infecting his sinuses and throbbing beneath every inch of his skin. A thin layer of beaded sweat coated his forehead. He brushed the back of his hand across the dampness in an attempt to clear some of it away, to no avail. He presses his hands to his temples.

One of the many things that Norman prided himself on was his immense power as a businessman. Perhaps not to the extremes of someone like Tony Stark, but _Oscorp_ had its own brand of power that wasn’t to be ignored. So he did what businessmen did best. He made a call.

He raised the phone to his lips as the phone rang. A moment passed, and then another… the call picked up and a gruff voice sounded through the speakers. “Hello?”

“It’s Norman Osborn,” he said, his voice lowering to appear more professional-like. Closing his eyes, he still sees nothing but white light. This migraine was unbearable. “You know what to do.”

Norman moves his head to the side, cracking it. His hands shake. He feels as though an strange icy feeling has wormed its way under his skin. His bones feel fragile. Blood rushes to the surface, creating red splotches on his hands.

His eyes feel like they’re rolling to the back of his head, placing pressure against his eye sockets.  His jaw tenses due to the excruciating pain. Norman’s mind slips into himself, and for a blissful moment, he feels at peace. The Green Goblin has taken hold, leaving Norman behind.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

It’s almost noon when Harry finally stirs from sleep. Ned’s already up and about, sitting opposite May at the dining table. He’s smiling as he takes a sip of lemonade, talking to May about school. Harry can’t make out the words in his dazed state, but he can make out his name being mentioned, along with Peter, Michelle, and a couple dozen teachers. Peter, on the other hand, sits beside Harry on the floor. He’s looking up at the television, of which is playing the news.

Suddenly, the current affairs news changes to show _Breaking_ _News._ Footage of a humanoid figure zooming towards a tall building. Harry immediately recognises it – _Oscorp._

“Breaking news, it appears that an attempted robbery of the recently established New York base of _Oscorp Industries_ was thwarted by an unknown individual. The saviour is a man with green armour, who arrived at the scene almost immediately. It appears that the robbers were trying to-”

Harry’s breath hitches at the thought of his father potentially being there. Despite everything, he didn’t want his father to be _hurt._ Norman Osborn usually showed up to work at around six in the morning every single day. Six hours ago…

“I need to go,” both Peter and Harry say in unison. Harry looks at Peter for a moment, confused.

“I, uh… take pictures. For fun?” Peter tries to explain, “of um… superheroes.”

“Is that how you became friends with Spider-Man?” Harry muses aloud.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah,” Peter says with little confidence.

“I should go see my father,” Harry’s voice comes out with feigned levelness. He’s forcing a kind of stability that he doesn’t feel himself, “He’ll probably be shaken. Or angry. Most likely angry.”

Peter looks at the screen. This unknown person was a _hero._ And Peter was going to talk to him.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“Tony,” Pepper speaks. Her voice demands attention. Tony looks up at her from his desk. His  
eyes are heavy, working hard to find this phantom thief.

“What?”

Pepper shows Tony her screen. On which shows analytics for the entire storehouse. “The glider. The suit. They’re back.”

Tony jumps up from his seat in surprise to check that what Pepper said was correct. He furrows his brows. “But.. why?”

Pepper shrugs. Her face is serious. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Not going to lie, now I’m lowkey offended,” Tony says with a hint of humour in his voice. “What’s wrong with my tech?”

“Tony-”

Tony cuts over her, “Shh. I’m thinking.”

“Tony!” Pepper raises her voice slightly. “I think I know why.” She taps her fingers on her screen and a second later, the latest news is flashing up on the screen – the same man.

“What happens when you leave a child alone?” Pepper asks.

“They make a mess,” Tony says bluntly.

“And-?” Pepper prompts Tony. Realisation dawns across his face. The fundamental rule of his childhood. Disrupt the parents, and –“They get attention.”

Tony looks at the news footage and hits pause. He zooms in on the footage. The man has green armour and a glider, not dissimilar to the one he’d taken from Tony. He seemed to have modelled it off of Stark tech, but made some slight changes. The original armour hadn’t been designed to be taken into any kind of battle, just one of many attempted prototype that were more for show than anything else. “We’re the audience. But what to?”

“Something’s not right. Why try to get our attention? What’s he doing?” Pepper speaks slowly.

“I… I don’t know,” Tony replays the footage, hoping to catch something he missed.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Spider-Man looked down at the streets below, eyeing the entrance to _Oscorp._

 _“What is the purpose of this, Peter?”_ an electronic female voice says. Karen, the Spider-Man suit’s in-built AI, somehow managed to always sound slightly snarky in her speech delivery. Most likely because she was developed by Tony Stark.  

“This was the flying green guy’s last place” Spider-Man told Karen. It was ridiculous, perhaps, for him to think that the vigilante was still hanging around.

“Bug,” a raspy voice says behind him. Spider-Man turns to face the owner of the voice and comes face-to-face with a tall man, completely covered head-to-toe in green armour.

At his feet was a glider with several sharp parts. His mask was ghastly. It reminded Spider-Man of one of the Silents from _Doctor Who,_ except green, with two small yellow windows for eyes, and a mechanical mouth.

“Interesting costume choice, Mister-” Spider-Man can’t even complete his quip before he finds himself being body slammed by the mysterious figure. If Spider-Man had been anyone else on the planet, he’d probably have fallen off the building to his death. Luckily for him, he fell backwards and quickly aimed his web shooter towards the building, giving him something to hold on to. He swings back towards the building and then climbs back upwards to the roof.

“Now that’s just _rude,”_ he said, feigning confidence. Internally, he was suddenly very shaken and confused.

 _“He appears to be hostile,”_ Karen says from within his suit. _No kidding,_ Peter thinks.

The green man came back towards him, this time picking Spider-Man up and shooting upwards into the air. Spider-Man couldn’t decide whether or not to back off or to hold on for dear life. As far as he was aware, spiders – unlike cats – don’t always land on their feet.

He then hears a sound that is strikingly familiar. A sound that, ever since he was eight-years-old, has given him hope. The sound of the Iron Man.

With that, Peter let go of the flying green man and fell. Falling… falling…

Tony doesn’t hesitate, he immediately soars in to catch the fifteen-year-old. The flying green man turns his glider to face Iron Man. “Kid, get outta here,” Tony says with blatant authority.

“But-”

“Tony Stark!” the man says in that still raspy voice. He speeds towards Tony, attempting to slice him with his glider. Last minute, Tony moves away, and the man slams into the side of the building. Bricks falls from the wall and into the street leaving a large gaping hole behind.

“Who are you?” Tony’s voice is stern. The flying green man whips his face around to look at Tony. His voice comes out almost as a hiss. “I am the Green Goblin.”

With that he flies away into the sky, gone before Tony could catch up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot karen existed lol
> 
> pLs continue to leave comments i honestly love each and every one of them and i'm trying to work through them all


	13. Father Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mister Osborn,” Donald addresses Harry politely.  
> “I’m here to see my father. He… after everything…”  
> “I understand, Mister Osborn,” Donald says, “However, he is not here. He hasn’t been on the premises since Thursday. It is to my understanding that he’s been working from home.”

Harry stormed into _Oscorp_ with his best Osborn face on, hoping for once that his father’s ability for inciting fear would somehow get him somewhere. Inside were several police officers, still in the process of detaining the attempted robber. Harry vaguely recognised one of the officers to be Flash's father, Harrison Thompson. Harrison Thompson looked almost identical to his son, however, with distinct wrinkles under his eyes and a goatee. He looked quite frankly bored with the robber, a rather large man, built like a tank. He looked extremely roughed up, with several tattoos and scars across almost every inch of his visible skin.

A man whom Harry vaguely recognised approached him. This man had blond hair and oversized glasses perched on his nose. He was one of those people that could easily be anywhere between twenty-five to forty years of age. He was dressed smartly and had a notepad in his hands. A small crease had appeared between his eyebrows from stress.

“Donald,” Harry said. Donald was his father’s assistant, and was sure to know where he was.

“Mister Osborn,” Donald addresses Harry politely.

“I’m here to see my father. He… after everything…”

“I understand, Mister Osborn,” Donald says, “However, he is not here. He hasn’t been on the premises since Thursday. It is to my understanding that he’s been working from home.”

Harry frowns at this. _Surely_ his father would tell him if he’s been working from home? Harry took a moment to ruminate on this. His father had been absent on Friday morning, the morning he and Peter had walked to school together, and he’d been absent yet again yesterday morning when Harry had woken up. In fact, the only time Harry had really _seen_ Norman was after school on Friday, during which his father had been less than engaging. Harry knew his father had never been much for genuine interaction, but _this?_ This was a new one.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“When were you going to tell me?” Peter said angrily, pulling off his mask to look up at Tony Stark. “You were _ready_ for this. You _knew-”_

“I had it under control,” Tony’s voice remains level.

“Mister Stark,” Peter’s voice turns soft, “With all due respect, I can handle it. I’m a big kid.”

“I know you can handle it. But that doesn’t mean you have to.” Tony swallows. He looks away in thought. “You have enough going on as it is right now. Sometimes you’ve gotta act your age-”

“Mister Stark-”

“No. I’m done talking about this.” Tony turns to leave. He walks about a metre, when-

“What happened to you letting me be independent? Have I not _proved_ myself to you? After _everything-”_ _  
_

“Peter!” Tony’s voice strikes a cord with the young boy. He approaches Peter, standing quite close. His voice is barely a whisper. “You don’t need to prove yourself to me. But this is bigger fish than you can fry. It’s _my_ fight. Go home.”

With that, Tony was gone.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Norman woke up in his office with sweat coating every inch of his skin. He felt as though he’d just spent hours in a thousand degree sauna. His migraine had shifted to feel like a dull throbbing under his eye socket. He was staring up to the ceiling with his body spread out. Despite it being the middle of March, he couldn’t stop the boiling heat that was bubbling under his skin. It was almost unbearable. His memories were distant, like he was watching them through faded old film. The city, a voice… so similar but so different from his own.

 _The Green Goblin._ That’s what he’d called himself. Norman felt a shudder at the thought that the goblin of his childhood nightmares had potentially worked their way into his waking life. Norman pulled himself off the ground.

His head felt like a weight on his shoulders. His shirt had been discarded to the side along with his tie. His reaches for the shirt and pulls it over his body despite his clamminess. His hands shake as he buttons his shirt up. He hadn’t thought four days ago when he’d first taken the serum that things would have gone this way… but he was fine. It was fine. He had the Goblin under control. He just needed _focus._ There was a knock on the door of his study.

He quickly readjusted his suit before allowing the visitor to come in. The door opened and there stood Harry, looking quite dishevelled. He looked as though he’d just woken up.

“I thought you were at Mister Parker’s house,” Norman said simply.

Harry looked up at his father. His brows meet together in confusion. “I just… came to check on you. I saw on the news about the robbery at _Oscorp_ and I was just worried-”

“Yes, yes, everything is fine,” Norman waves his son away. Harry bites his tongue. “Oh… okay.”

Harry closes the door, leaving Norman alone with his thoughts and a currently dormant Goblin.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry’s bedroom had always felt far too large for him. Lined with windows and bookshelves, with a large bed built into the wall, of which he was currently laying on. The room was far too spotless, unnaturally so. He was sure that, if he wanted, he could probably eat off his floor and it would still be more sanitary than any other dish in the city. Harry felt disgusted with himself whenever he dared to think about how _depressing_ it was. He was coated in privilege in every sense of the word, and here he was feeling sorry for himself because _his daddy didn’t like him._ He couldn’t say it didn’t hurt when his father had so easily shrugged him away, but there were so many people with _far_ greater problems. At least he _had_ a parent. _There were so many kids,_ he thought, _that didn’t have any at all._

Spider-Man wasn’t quite sure what he was doing as he was swinging through the city. Tony, the one person who he thought would understand his sense of responsibility, had abandoned him. Peter’s limbs felt like they were on autopilot as he touched down on the windowsill of a familiar apartment.

He tapped on one of Harry’s many bedroom windows, and Harry quickly got up from his seat on his bed. He unlatched the window and it opened as if it were just a glass door leading to nowhere. Spider-Man entered the room, somehow simultaneously dignified and awkward.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry asks him. Spider-Man looks around the room for a moment.

“I just… I had a fight with uh, Iron Man,” he said. He coughed suddenly and deepened his voice in an attempt to disguise it. Harry raised an eyebrow at the superhero.

“Why’d you do that?” Harry asked.

“Have a fight?” Spider-Man said in his deeper voice, “Well-”

“No,” Harry replied, “Why’d you change your voice like that? It’s weird. It’s unnatural.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Harry,” Spider-Man says, pitching his voice up a bit to a more natural register, “but nothing about me is natural.”

“Well, yeah. No person should be as inclined towards spandex as you are,” Harry quipped. He smiled at his own joke, but then that smile failed him and fell back to a deadpan.

“Are you okay?” Spider-Man looked up at Harry.

“Oh, yeah… I’m… fine…” Harry managed weakly.

“You’re lying,” Spider-Man said. Harry swallowed.

“I don’t wanna seem… well… like a spoiled little rich kid.”

“You couldn’t seem like that,” Spider-Man affirmed, “not to me.”

Harry bit the inside of his mouth. “You don’t even know me.”

“I…” Spider-Man said, pausing for a moment, “I know enough.”

Harry sat down on his bed and Spider-Man stood awkwardly in front of him. He seemed to bounce between the balls of his feet. Harry looked up at Spider-Man, shorter than him for the first time. “I… my dad and I. We have a complicated relationship. I just… it’s nothing, really.”

Spider-Man’s breath seemed to hitch. Harry wondered if he imagined it.

“Would you tell Peter Parker?” Spider-Man asked him. Peter had always felt strange, talking about himself in the third person.

“I, uh… I don’t know,” Harry says slowly, before correcting himself, “Yes.”

“Peter he…” Harry continues, “he does everything right. He knows just what to say without ever being told… it’s just… I can’t describe it. I barely know him but I feel… hopeful. I didn’t have many… friends,” Harry pauses to take a breath, “in San Francisco.”

Peter thinks for a moment as to whether this would be the moment to _tell_ him. Tell him his truth. If only he could bring himself to take off the mask…

His hand wouldn’t move. He couldn’t do this. He’d never been faced with this: the choice to decide exactly _who_ knew his identity. How could he know he was making the right choice? He hadn’t even known Harry for very long, but he felt like he could trust him with anything at all. His heart lurched in his chest as Harry looked up at him with sad eyes.

 _Not now, Peter,_ he thinks to himself, _that’s something for another day._

He sits beside Harry, for the first time pushing his anxieties to the side. There’s a time and a place for perception-shattering reveals. Today is not that day.

They sit beside each other in silence. Somehow... the world had both shifted, yet had stayed exactly the same.

 

 

...

「◆」

...

 

 

**END OF ACT ONE**

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we've reached the end of act one! act two will come asap. 
> 
> pls leave comments i love each and every one of you :)


	14. Menace!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why are you shredding newspapers?”  
> Harry shrugs, “Anyone with a brain knows it’s b-s. Spiderman and Iron Man were just defending themselves. The footage is all up online.”

**ACT TWO:**

_**"Goblin Rising"** _

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry took delight in running the morning’s newspaper through the shredder. There was something particularly satisfying to him about the way the headline tore. It had read as follows: _Spider and Iron: Menace or Martyr?_ As it could be assumed, the article believed _heavily_ in the former. Ever since the now dubbed _Green Goblin_ had made his first appearance as a hero, and it had become known that Iron Man and Spiderman had fought him within hours of the Goblin stopped a _robbery…_ well, the public was less than favourable towards either of the heroes. All the while, the public hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the elusive Goblin since.

Ned sat cross-legged on Harry’s floor, combing through Harry’s multitude of books that he simply hadn’t gotten around to reading. Peter, on the other hand, was contorted so his back and head was on the floor, however his feet were up resting on Harry’s bed. Above his head was one of many newspapers to be shredded. This one said _The Masked Menace?_ and featured a screencap of one of Spiderman’s Youtube sightings. Peter sighed as his arms flopped down to his sides. His face fell to a pout. Harry tried to stifle a laugh.

“Why do you even have a paper shredder in your room?” Ned asked Harry, moving away from spreading books across the floor and instead shuffling through the pile of newspapers.

“I don’t. I took this from my dad’s office,” Harry said simply.

Ned beamed up at Harry. “You little rebel, you.”

Peter flipped his body over so he was now laying on his chest and facing Ned. “Oh yes. Peak rebellion. Stealing a paper shredder.”

Harry runs another newspaper from the pile through the shredder. Ned reads through the cover. This one was from _the Daily Bugle,_ and headlined with a simple title – straight to the point – _MENACE!_ However, it wasn’t this title that caught Ned’s attention. It was the little advertisement, barely visible, crammed into the bottom right corner of the front page. 

“Peter, check this out.”

Peter gets to his feet by dexterously using his upper body strength to hoist himself up and smoothly bringing himself to his feet. Harry found that he was always surprised when Peter did something like this. In school, Peter was frankly the opposite of a star athlete. He would trip over his own feet and stumble over air on multiple occasions. And yet, Peter seemed to have some intense strength muscles. He was flexible and lithe; Harry was frequently reminded of some of the male ballet dancers he’d once seen as a boy at the West End.

Peter looked over Ned’s shoulder to spy the advertisement Ned was gesturing to. There was a small cartoon of a camera above small printed text. It read simply _Amateur photographers wanted for Daily Bugle! Minimum wage._

“Hey, maybe you could do that,” Harry said to Peter, focusing his attention between both his friend and the paper shredder. Peter bit his lip.

“Maybe…”

Peter walked backwards and flopped on Harry’s bed. The springs of the mattress cause Peter to bounce a little. As he makes impact, Harry’s bedroom door opens.

Norman Osborn, looking very tired indeed, stepped into the room. He looked nothing like any of the boys had ever seen. He looked weakened and tired. His eyes looked almost sunken. His skin was so pale, the boys were sure that upon closer inspection that they could spot every single one of his veins.

“I heard noise – oh,” Norman says, stopping when he sees Ned and Peter. Norman’s eyes move between the three of them. First to Ned on the floor, then to the newspapers, up to Harry and his shredder, and then to Peter on Harry’s bed. Norman’s back straightens even more than it had before, sizing up to his full height.

"Why are you shredding newspapers?”

Harry shrugs, “Anyone with a brain knows it’s b-s. Spiderman and Iron Man were just _defending_ themselves. The footage is all up online.”

Something flickers behind Norman’s eyes. The air feels oddly tense around them as Harry looks up at his father. Peter had noticed the shift between Norman and Harry in the last three weeks. Harry was much more reckless in how he spoke to his dad, more often willing to stand his ground. Even Peter – who battled villains on the regular – couldn’t help but feel intimidated by Harry’s _Osborn eyes._ It wasn’t something he used frequently, but when he did… Peter was sure Harry could move planets just with his stare.

Norman swallows. He looks towards Peter. “Mister Parker,” he says in an attempt to break the tension. His voice holds an air of grandeur. “I recently looked into your marks at school. Very impressive.”  
Peter frowned as he sat up on Harry’s bed. _Norman Osborn had looked him up?_ _How?_

As if Norman could sense what Peter was thinking, he spoke, “I have my ways. Tell me… have you ever considered maybe working at _Oscorp?_ We could really do with you brand of intelligence.”

Harry scowls as he looks between Peter and Norman. There’s an awkward silence. Ned twiddles his thumbs.

“He actually has an internship with Tony Stark,” Harry says to his father. Norman’s eyes narrow slightly. 

“I see. Do you enjoy it?”

Peter bites his lower lip. “I uh… Mister Stark is…”

Norman’s eyes flicker to the newspapers again. “It is understandable that it would be… distressing to have your mentor so negatively spoken about in such a public way,” Norman looks back to Peter, “but I do believe that you would be wasted at _Stark Industries._ However… it is up to you. If you wish to stay with Stark, well then, who am I to stop you?” Norman feigns cheerfulness. Harry can spot in his tone that he doesn’t truly mean it. With that, Norman turns and exits the room.

Peter looks to Harry, as if asking for an explanation as to what just happened. Harry’s eyes indicate that he hadn’t a single idea either. Ned coughs.

“Well, uh… that was… interesting.” He smiles awkwardly.


	15. SF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first page is a document. A mugshot of a beefy man looking very grim indeed looked almost soullessly into the camera. The name to the face read Aleksei Sytsevich.
> 
> Pepper provided an explanation before Tony even asked the questions. “He’s the guy that tried to rob Oscorp. I figure he’s the closest thing to a lead that we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter briefly mentions 9/11. it's not a major mention (it's not even referred to by name) but i just thought i'd give a heads up

_Stark Industries_ had, pretty much since its inception, had a fairly steady increasing profit. Forever an ever rising line as technology got sold, collateral was cleared, and Iron Man saved people. That was, until three weeks ago. Sure, the offhand good was still selling, but not as much as it used to. Not as much as it should. And Tony Stark suspected he knew why.

The tabloids had been _ruthless._ Within a day of the named _Green Goblin_ first appearing, multiple newspaper publications hadn’t shied away from trying to discredit Tony Stark upon several eyewitness accounts of him having faced off the Goblin. Pepper had fought off the journalistic press animals that came knocking the best she could. Tony held his head in his hands, his body folded over his desk as he watched the footage of the Goblin for what felt like the thousandth time.

“You know, no matter how many times you watch it over, it’s still gonna happen the same way,” Pepper said, positioning herself to sit on the left arm of Tony’s chair. Tony blinked and let out a sigh.

“I need _something. Anything.”_

“That’s why I’m here,” Pepper said. She places a file in front of Tony. Tony frowns curiously at it and opens it. The first page is a document. A mugshot of a beefy man looking very grim indeed looked almost soullessly into the camera. The name to the face read _Aleksei Sytsevich._

Pepper provided an explanation before Tony even asked the questions. “He’s the guy that tried to rob _Oscorp._ I figure he’s the closest thing to a lead that we have.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter had been inside Harry’s penthouse many times, but he had never actually stepped foot in many of the rooms. He knew where the living room was, and Harry’s bedroom, and where Harry’s bathroom was, but aside from that, Peter was sure he needed a map to get literally anywhere that wasn’t any of the previously aforementioned rooms. So he was genuinely surprised when Harry guided Ned and Peter into the kitchen for lunch. Peter thought that the kitchen was probably bigger than some of the professional grade kitchens that were built into restaurants.

There was a single woman working in the kitchen at a benchtop, cutting sandwiches. Peter wondered if Harry had told her to do that ahead of time. She had long strawberry-blonde hair that was tied back out of her face. She was quite beautiful. Peter supposed she was in her late-thirties, maybe her early forties at the most. Her facial features were sharp, elegant. She reminded Peter of some of those old Hollywood beauties that he’d seen in movies he’d watched with his Uncle Ben.

“Hey, Madeline,” Harry said, comfortably. “Need any help?”

Madeline smiled warmly up at him. She was about Peter’s height. “That’s not needed, Mister Osborn.”

Peter knew Harry was rich. He knew full _well._ But that didn’t mean he wasn’t frequently surprised by just _how_ rich. Harry was such a kind person, perhaps a little introverted and impetuous, so different from so many of the richer kids at his school. In Peter’s mind, _Flash Thompson_ was the golden example of a rich kid: entitled and believing far too much in his own superiority.

Then there was the matter of how people _addressed_ Harry. Grown adults being polite to this sixteen-year-old _kid_ because their salary depended on it. Calling him _Mister Osborn_ even if the situation didn’t call for it. Adults usually called Peter _Hey Kid_ at best.

Madeline finished cutting the final sandwich. She pushed the plates outwards for the three boys. Harry nods at her. “Thank you, Madeline.” He looks towards the door for a moment, before pulling his wallet out of his pocket. He pulls out two fifty dollar notes and hands it to Madeline.

“Don’t tell my father. Go out and buy something for yourself and your daughters.”

Madeline looks at the notes in her hands and back up to Harry, not quite surprised, but hesitant. She bites her lip. “Thank you, Mister Osborn.”

She leaves the kitchen, looking a little lighter than she had before. Peter watches her go. Ned bites down on his sandwich.

“My father doesn’t pay her very well,” Harry explains, “I’ve tried to change his mind but he insists on paying her as little as he is legally allowed to. So every once in a while I just… slip her money.”

“Could you slip _me_ some money?” Ned jokes. He takes another bite of his sandwich.

Peter looks around the kitchen for a moment. “You know, you’ve only lived here for what? A month? But it honestly looks like you’ve been moved in for years.”

Harry pulls his plate towards him and takes a bite of his sandwich. He licks his lips and puts his sandwich back down. “Well, because there wasn’t really much to really… move in? My father’s owned this place for years. It’s just a matter of moving personal possessions into the building.”  
He gets up and moves to a large pantry. He disappears into it for a moment. “Do any of you want a drink?”  
  
“Vodka,” Ned says completely deadpan. He doesn’t mean it. Peter knows Ned has never had a single sip of alcohol in his life. Harry reemerges from the pantry holding two bottles of soft drink.

Harry tips his head, completely serious. “I _wish_ to be honest. My father won’t allow any alcohol in the apartment.” He sets the bottles down on the benchtop.

“What d’you mean your dad already owned the place?” Peter said. He finally took a bite out of his sandwich. It was just a chicken-mayonnaise sandwich, but it was probably the best chicken-mayonnaise sandwich he’d ever had in his life.

“I was born here. In New York,” Harry stated, sounding quite preposterous in his distinctly _Californian_ accent. “I lived here for about ten months after I was born. My father has eight bases set up across the world. One in London, one in San Francisco, one in Tokyo, one in Paris, one in Sydney, one in Beijing…” Harry pauses to think, “One in Berlin. And one in New York.” Harry takes out three glasses. He gestures between the two soft drinks. One is creaming soda, the other is cola. “Which do you want?”

“Creaming soda, thanks,” Peter says. Ned’s still eating his sandwich, and says something that sounds something like _“Cola.”_

“Anyway,” Harry continues as he pours the cups, _“Oscorp_ Headquarters actually used to be on Rector Street, right here in New York-”

“Two blocks away from Ground Zero,” Peter realises.

“Exactly,” Harry said. “My father officially disbanded the New York division of _Oscorp_ in like, October 2001. He moved as much as he was allowed to San Francisco and made the SF division the official headquarters for the company.” He passed the cups to Ned and Peter.

“It’s amazing that the world changed forever over the course of two hours and my father saw it as a mild inconvenience to his _business,”_ His voice dripped of cynicism. Harry took a sip of his drink. He, like Peter, had chosen creaming soda.  

"Anyway, yeah. From the age of about six, I went to boarding school in France-"

"Can you speak any French?" Peter asked curiously.

"Uhh..." Harry said awkwardly, "yeah."

"Cool!" Ned said, "Peter can speak Spanish and Italian. And I speak Hawaiian. Only with my grandma usually, though."

"Anyway-" Peter cut over Ned, "You were saying?"

"Oh, uh... yeah I went to boarding school for the age of six. I got pulled out when I was like, fourteen, and put into this pretentious private school in SF. Then when my mum died about a year ago, my dad decided that he wanted to permanently relocate back to New York. Nothing else really to it," Harry finished awkwardly. He swallows and looks down.

Peter could see from Harry's sudden shiftiness that there was  _something else_ going on – but it wasn't his position to ask.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Tony sat in front of the glass. On the other side was Aleksei Sytsevich. He looked even more brutal in person than he did in his photograph. His eyes were sallow and his skin was so pale it appeared almost _blue._ He looked like a rather large corpse.

Tony put the receiver to his ear. Aleksei mimicked this action.

“Tony Stark,” Aleksei spat. Tony was sure that, had there not been glass between them, he would’ve gotten a very disgusting shower indeed. “What brings you here?”

“You robbed _Oscorp,”_ Tony went straight to the point, “And I want to know _why.”_  

Aleksei scoffed slightly. “And why would I tell you that?” His Russian accent was quite pronounced.

“Because if you don’t, you’re going to rot in here for the rest of your life,” Tony said.

The corner of Aleksei’s mouth twitched in amusement. He leaned back in his chair, still with the receiver at his ear. “No, I won’t. See, I have a little arrangement. I’m getting out no matter what I tell you.”

Tony’s face fell. “What arrangement?”

“My employer. He’s clever.” Aleksei says simply.

“What employer? Did he tell you to rob _Oscorp-”_

“Sorry,” Aleksei said without a hint of genuine concern, “time’s up.”

He put the receiver back down and was guided away by security. Tony closed his eyes, putting his head in his hands.

 


	16. Invite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Harry – I’m having this party and I was wondering if you wanted to go. I know you’re still adjusting and I just thought you might have fun.”
> 
> Harry bites his lip. He hadn’t been to a party in a while.  
> “You can invite Ned and Peter, if you want,” Jason adds as an afterthought.

Harry was, unlike the several hundred students at _Midtown School of Science and Technology,_ not a genius. Harry was beyond useless when it came to Mathematics, and couldn’t for the life of him wrap his head around Chemistry, despite Peter’s best efforts. Harry couldn’t help but feel simultaneously impressed by and envious of Peter’s natural ability in, well, _everything._

But English, _that_ was his class. He didn’t have that class with either Ned or Peter, but he was quite honestly fine with it. He only knew two of the twenty people in his class by name – Michelle and Jason – however, they didn’t talk to him. Michelle, on the days she showed up, would usually sit at the very back of the class reading some obscure novel and barely absorbing a word the teacher said. Jason sat two desks down from Harry, however, he seemed to spend his time in English very much _asleep._ So when Jason sat beside him first period on Monday, Harry took a moment to truly comprehend it.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty,” Harry jokes. Jason flips imaginary hair over his shoulder.

“Why thank you,” he replies, before changing the topic. “So, Harry – I’m having this party and I was wondering if you wanted to go. I know you’re still adjusting and I just thought you might have fun.”

Harry bites his lip. He hadn’t been to a party in a _while._ _  
_

“You can invite Ned and Peter, if you want,” Jason adds as an afterthought. Harry wonders if they would’ve been invited had he not been.

“Uh, yeah. Sounds good,” Harry says. He feels his throat tighten at the thoughts; he hadn't the  _best_ track record with parties. He almost  _loathed_ them.

Missus Winterhalter, the elderly English teacher, enters the room, signifying for class to begin.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“When’s your driver supposed to get here?” Peter asks Harry as he slouches against the same lamppost that he always leaned up against after school, a cigarette spindling around his fingers like clockwork. Harry had fallen into a simple after school routine. He’d clamber down the steps from school to this very lamppost and smoke – it wasn’t on the premises, so he couldn’t get in trouble, and none of the passers by seemed to care. One or two people would recognise him, but they’d be immediately on their way. Then he’d be joined by either Ned or Peter, or a combination of the two, as he waited for his father’s driver to arrive.

“He’s usually about fifteen minutes late, as always,” Harry said, inhaling the smoke. Peter eyed the rolled paper in his hands. Harry withdrew it from between his teeth and raised an eyebrow at Peter. “What?”

“Well, it’s just…” Peter says, “I only say this ‘cause I worry about you sometimes. Y’know… smoking’s bad for you.”

Harry shrugged, “Oh well.”

Harry _knew_ that. His mother had reminded him on the regular, when she’d been alive. His father had, too, though less tactfully. His father would make a point of turning his nose up at him at commenting on how his clothes, hair, skin smelled of smoke. But it was a habit – a bad habit, but a habit nonetheless – that Harry had picked up and had never quite been able to shake. In California, Harry had his indulgence satisfied by those older than him that were willing to purchase it. However, in the month that Harry had been in New York, his stock was beginning to run low.

“You know Jason Ionello?” Harry said, changing the topic.

“Oh yeah – the school news guy.” Peter had gone to elementary school with Jason, though they’d hardly spoken. The most he knew was what he looked like, that he was on the school news team, and that he was friends with Flash Thompson. “What about him?”

“He invited me to a party,” Harry didn’t seem particularly excited, “and he said I could bring you and Ned.”

 _“Really?”_ Peter’s voice rose slightly from the surprise. He burst into an awkward smile. Liz’s party – which he had only been to for about ten minutes anyway – had been both Peter’s first and last high school party. Peter Parker wasn’t exactly the most welcomed party guest.

A black car – a 2017 Rolls-Royce Phantom – pulled up beside them. Harry extinguished his cigarette and went to say goodbye to Peter, when the closest back window to them rolled down. Norman Osborn sat in the backseat. As always, he was smartly-dressed in a simple black suit and tie. Perched on his nose was a pair of sunglasses that Peter thought was probably more expensive than his entire life. Norman lowered the glasses to look at Harry and then to Peter. Harry stepped back slightly in surprise; his father had never once shown up to pick him up.

“Hello, Father,” Harry manages, suddenly receding into himself.

“Harry.” Norman addresses him dismissively, before calling to Peter “Mister Parker!”

Peter frowns, taken aback. “Mister Osborn?”

“How about I offer you a ride home. My treat. For being such a good…” Norman pauses, “...friend to Harry.”

Peter can hardly decline. Norman looks to Harry, “That is if you don’t mind, of course, Harry?”

“Of course not,” Harry says, not looking away from his father. He doesn’t stand down until his father looks away. Peter thinks he’s going to drown in the tension.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Norman watches Peter with deep interest, and Peter feels himself crumbling under the gaze. Harry looks between them – first worryingly to Peter, and then coldly to his father. His father was quite the off-putting man, and he seemed to be putting Peter off quite well.

"So, Mister Parker," Norman speaks as if he is in a meeting. Harry narrows his eyes slightly at the tone.

"Uh..." Peter looks to Harry for guidance, but Harry is just as bewildered. "Yes, Mister Osborn?"

"Last we spoke, you – or rather, my son –" his eyes flicker over to Harry for a moment before looking back to Peter, "informed me that you had an internship with Tony Stark. Is that still – ?"

Peter's jaw clenches. "It's fine."

Norman's mouth twitches slightly. "You know, you can  _tell_ me, Peter. I know too well that Tony Stark is a... difficult man."

Peter's eyes move from the floor of the car upwards to Norman's face. He's removed his sunglasses from his nose, it now residing in the collar of his shirt. This is the first time Peter had really  _seen_ Mister Osborn. He'd seen him in news articles, sure, but those had been paparazzi photos taken from unsuspecting angles, most of the details of his face obscured. He was pale, just as pale if not  _more_ so than Harry. His jaw was strong and defined, and Peter could undeniably see Harry in the older man's face. Norman's face, however, lacked a certain something that Harry had. Harry's face was glossed with kindness and warmth. None of that warmth met Norman's eyes.

"Mister Stark and I had a falling out, that's all," Peter said. He hoped this would soon be over and that the driver would pull outside his apartment complex any moment now. 

"You did?" Harry asked, "You didn't say–"

Peter shrugged. "Wasn't that important."

"It's very important, Mister Parker," Norman's voice drips with charisma. "Tony Stark doesn't... appreciate your talents. I'm sure I could offer you a position on my staff after school. Business has really been extraordinary lately."

"Because someone tried to  _rob_ you," Harry murmured under his breath, absent-mindedly looking out the window.  
Norman's eyes flashed, but it left as quickly as it came. "Yes, well... thanks to the  _Green Goblin_ _,_  business is booming better than ever and, I didn't even lose any of my assets." He manages a smile, but Peter can see how fake it is. It's a show smile; the kind that litters magazines and tabloids. The kind that spreads across the mouth but doesn't meet the eyes.

"I don't think uh... he's as good as people think he is," Peter says. Norman raises a slight eyebrow, but says nothing. The car pulls up outside of Peter's apartment complex, and he can't wait to leave the vehicle. He offers Harry a weak smile and exits the car. 

 _Norman Osborn,_ Peter decided,  _was terrifying._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a bad chapter im sorry
> 
> also mini shoutout to @itsparkerluck on instagram for recognising me (for writing this fic) in a comment section you're a real one lmAo


	17. Somebody To Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What… what are you wearing?” Harry said.  
> “It’s my party hat,” Ned beamed even more.  
> “It gives him confidence,” Peter finished.

Harry Osborn had been to parties. He _knew_ parties far too well. The kinds that lasted too late as teenagers fell asleep on wet lawns when the police would inevitably show up and one of the many kids’ billionaire fathers would tip the police to not make the raucous public news. The kinds where Harry wouldn’t care what he drank or smoked, nor did he care whose lips were on his neck no matter how completely wrong it felt because this was what he’d convinced himself was _normal_ and he’d arrive home twelve hours after curfew to his father telling him all the things he was doing _wrong_ only for Harry to do the same thing a few days later. Rinse, repeat...

_He knew parties far too well._

_“You’re not going,”_ Norman had said with authority as Harry left the apartment. Harry’s anxiety had been already creeping up on him and his father was definitely _not_ helping the matter.

 _“Yes, I am,”_ Harry’s voice tried not to waver as he’d spoken back to his father. Their relationship had always been rocky, but in the last few weeks it had just heightened, or perhaps Harry had just become more aware of it; he couldn’t be entirely sure.

Jason lived in a fairly large house. It had two floors and looked like it had been ripped right out of a Disney Channel show. Harry saw through the windows that there were already people inside the house. There was a tap on his shoulder and Harry turned around to face Peter and Ned. Peter was awkwardly smiling, though Harry could tell that really, he was excited. He had an unbuttoned white shirt layered over a black shirt, on which had a graphic of the periodic table and the tagline _I wear this shirt periodically._ Ned was beaming, as usual, wearing a standard hoodie that read _Never Tell Me The Odds_ in the _Star Wars_ font (Harry could now recognise most _Star Wars_ quotes, mostly because of Ned) and a wide brimmed hat. Harry looks from the hat to Ned’s eyes.

“What… what are you wearing?” Harry said.

“It’s my party hat,” Ned beamed even more.

“It gives him confidence,” Peter finished. One of the many things that Harry liked about Peter and Ned was that they were so unapologetically themselves. Peter, with his geeky graphic tees and Ned with his unwavering energy.  It was oddly refreshing.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The first thing Harry noticed was that the party was calmer than Harry was expecting. It wasn’t a _dinner party,_ but it certainly wasn’t what Harry was used to. There were people milling around with cups in their hands, calmly chatting with their friends in groups. As Harry entered the living room, in the corner he saw a group of about eight people playing what looked to be _Cards Against Humanity._ The second thing he noticed was that there didn’t seem to be a single drug in sight. The last party he went to without a trace of even marijuana was probably a birthday party he went to when he was eight.

Peter stood beside him awkwardly, unsure on quite what to do. He looks to Harry.

“Should I get… should I get a drink?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Peter and let out a faint laugh. “Do whatever you want, Pete.”

Peter frowned before working his way towards the kitchen. Harry watched after him as he left. Ned had vanished somewhere into the party among the groups, and Harry suddenly realised he didn’t know any of the people at this party. The thought had crossed his mind as he’d arrived, but it hadn’t clicked just now just how few people he _actually_ spoke to.

Peter entered the kitchen, which was mostly empty. A short African-American boy, Abe, appeared to be told by Jason to be working the drinks. 

"Hey, Peter," Abe said, "You just get here?"

"Uh, yeah." Abe hands Peter a drink in a red cup. Peter took a sip. It was bitter.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“Hey!” a hand claps Harry's back. “You made it.”

Harry thought Jason smiled too much. Not in the way Ned smiled too much; Ned would beam and light up the room. Jason was smiling for the sake of smiling.

“You want a drink?”

“Uh…” Harry speaks slowly, “Do you have soda?”

“Uh, yeah,” Jason said. “Sally!” he called. Sally had been huddled in a group with twp other girls, one of which was Michelle. The other one was a thin Asian girl – Harry recognised her from his History class as being named _Cindy._ Sally sighed as she turned to face Jason.  
  
“What?”

“Can you look after dear Harry for me as I fetch a soft drink for him?” Jason says dramatically.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Harry says to Jason, before saying to Sally, “Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

“Nah, come here,” Sally gestured for him to come closer. Jason disappeared into the crowd of people before Harry could even blink. The girls all parted to allow Harry space in the circle.

“‘Sup,” Michelle tilted her head upwards in greeting. Harry smiled weakly.

“You’re Harry Osborn, right?” Cindy said. Her voice was quite high-pitched and she spoke quickly. “Son of _Norman Osborn?”_

Harry sighed, but nodded, “Yep.”

Peter returned with the typical red cup in his left hand. He fidgeted with his right hand, switching between clenching and unclenching his fingers. Peter smiled awkwardly as he approached Harry and the girls.

“Hey, Loser,” Michelle says.

“Takes one to know one, MJ,” Peter replies, “I thought you didn’t like parties.”

Michelle shrugged. “I don’t.”

“You totally do,” Cindy cuts over her with intense energy. Harry feels tired just listening to her speak. Peter frowns as he looks around the group.

“Hey, do you know where Ned is?”

“I think I saw him in the games room,” Sally replies. “It’s just down the hall.”

“Oh, thanks,” Peter manages a smile. Harry goes to follow him. “I’ll come too.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a minute, hopefully with Ned.”

Harry watches as he leaves again, and Harry wonders if there was any point in him coming here at all. He’d only been there for about ten minutes, and yet, Peter had left _twice._ Jason re-emerged from the kitchen with a can of lemonade in hand. He shoves it in Harry’s hands.

“For you, Mister Osborn.” Jason says it sarcastically, but Harry can’t help but wince internally.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter walks down the hallway, making his way towards where Sally had told him the games room is, as a voice calls out to him. “Peter!”

Peter stops in his tracks to face the girl. She had a heart shaped face, bright blue eyes, and pink cheeks.

“Oh, hi Betty,” Peter responded, finally recognising the girl through the low lighting. She smiles up at him, and Peter can’t help but think she is probably one of the few people that are shorter than him.  She’s wearing a simple yellow dress with a black coat to match her headband pulled over the top.

“I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you,” she says, smiling, almost shyly.

Peter frowns. People _never_ talk to him. _“Really?”_

“Yeah! Um, so… I heard you were thinking of uh… applying for the photographer position at the Bugle”

“O...oh,” Peter said awkwardly. He took a sip from his red cup. “Who told you that?”

“Ned,” Betty explained.

“Oh.”

“Anyway,” Betty tucked a front strand of her hair behind her ear. She looked down at the ground and then back at Peter. “I uh… intern. For the Bugle. I want to be a journalist, you see–”

“That’s why you’re on the school news team,” Peter said in an attempt to engage in conversation with her. It wasn’t every day that a pretty girl spoke to him directly.

“–yeah! Anyway,” she said _anyway_ a lot, “do you think you’ll actually apply? I’ve… I’ve seen of your stuff that you’ve put on _Instagram._ It’s really good.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, definitely. And,” she bites her lip and looks down, “seeing as you put up with Flash every day, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle J. Jonah Jameson. He’s the Editor-In-Chief. He’s a bit… extreme.”

“I’m guessing _he’s_ the one that came up with that trash against Spider-Man?”

She let out a faint laugh. Peter thought it was adorable.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry awkwardly swayed, lingering as the group – Cindy, Michelle, Jason and Sally – spoke to one another. Harry felt like an outsider, no matter how much they attempted to include him. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ them; they were just too much, except perhaps Michelle. Michelle was sarcastic, but relatively calm. The others, though, were rambunctious. Loud people made Harry tired.

He was only half-listening to their conversation, absently taking sips of his soft drink. He kept an eye out, hoping for either Ned or Peter to walk by. Peter had gone to get Ned ten minutes ago. Harry’s leg bounced up and down due to his anxieties. A _Queen_ song plays through the surround sound speakers. It’s ‘Somebody To Love’.

Flash Thompson is on the dance floor, swaying obnoxiously. His dance moves are larger than life. He dramatically puts his hands to his heart as he mouths along to the _Can anybody find me?_ in the lyrics before dropping down to the ground for the _somebody to love._ Harry watched as people cleared due to his ridiculous movements.

Harry excused himself from the group. He wandered down the hallway where Peter had disappeared to, when he spied Peter in the corner, but he wasn’t alone. There was a girl, the one from the news station. _Betty,_ Harry reminds himself. Harry supposes she’s cute. His heart does a small lurch in his chest.

They were leaning into one another as they spoke. Betty tucked her hair behind her ears looking downwards. Betty was probably one of the only people Peter had met who was substantially shorter than he was. Peter thought it was odd to be the one looking down at someone. Betty bit her lip. The lighting was low. The music was distant. The several other people in the room weren’t paying attention to them. Peter’s heart thudded in his chest as Betty looked up at him. Suddenly, Betty stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to Peter’s. Peter’s brain short-circuited as he eased himself into the kiss. Peter had never kissed someone before; he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He placed them on her hips awkwardly as Betty placed hers on his shoulders.

Harry couldn’t pin down what he was feeling as he watched them. Sure, he was happy for Peter, but…

His thoughts were cut off by Jason appearing by his side suddenly.

“Hey, man, what’re you–” he notices Peter and Betty in the corner. Jason swallows. His eyes droop. Harry thinks that this is the quietest he’s ever seen Jason.

“I didn’t know they were friends,” Jason manages, his voice weak. Harry can hardly hear him over the music, still blaring _Queen._

“Neither… neither did I,” Harry said, “They don’t even know each other.”

Jason bites his lip. Harry looks away from Peter and Betty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	18. MJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Spider-Man can’t drink alcohol?” Ned summarised.

Peter’s brain felt foggier than usual. Betty Brant was one of those girls that Peter felt he wasn’t worthy to even _look at,_ let alone speak to. Let alone _kiss_ her. She was so kind, and smart, and ambitious. But, at the same time, he felt guilty. There was a pit at the bottom of his stomach, gnawing away at the butterflies that had been there as Betty had looked up at him with her bright blue eyes. _Betty was friends with Liz,_ he thought, _that must be it._ He and Liz hadn’t been together – not _really_ – but he had still felt like it had _meant_ something. Was he _betraying_ her by kissing her friend that he didn’t know all too well to begin with? His thoughts jumped around in his head at hyperactive speed. He stepped away from Betty, looking down at her face. He smiles awkwardly.

“So, _The Daily Bugle,”_ she said, with a cute little smile, “You’ll think about it?”

“Y-yeah,” he manages, dazed. She stands there for a moment, biting her lip. “I really wish I could stay, but I promised my brother I’d be home by ten.” She pauses for a moment before standing on her tiptoes to kiss Peter on the cheek, and before he knew it she was gone.

His brain pounded. His stomach twisted with anxiety. _Liz,_ he thought, _I’m an idiot._ The world seemed to move slower. Every sound ricocheted inside his brain. He felt like he was going to throw up.

No. He _was_ going to throw up. The feeling overcame him suddenly, and it wouldn’t let him go. He quickly looked around, unsure as to where the nearest bathroom was. He made do with the kitchen, sticking his head in the sink to throw up.  
  
Harry appeared by his side suddenly. Peter wondered for a moment how Harry had gotten there so fast, but the thought quickly went away as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the sink. Harry put his hands on Peter’s back, making a swirling motion.

“Jesus, Pete,” Harry said, “What did you _drink?_ You were _fine_ five minutes ago–” Harry says the last part with a hint of bitterness.

“T’was nothing,” Peter managed. He seemed to be finished throwing up, “Just a drink Abe gave to me.”

“I don’t know who that is… doesn’t matter. Hold on –” Harry paused, “Where’s your cup?”

“Uh…” Peter tried to think, “I think I left it on the table.”

Harry disappeared and returned a moment later. “Okay, so Abe gave you beer. Nothing major. You shouldn’t be throwing up this much, especially if you only had one drink – you did only have one drink, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said. He was slowly starting to feel a tad better.

“Any drugs?” Harry asked, feeling rather ridiculous that he would ask _Peter_ of all people that question.

Peter’s head fell into his hands. “Adderall.”

Harry was surprised at the response.  “Wait, really? Why–”

“ADHD. T’is nothin’ really.” _Oh,_ Harry thought.

Peter stands back up straight. Peter had only had alcohol once before, pre-spiderbite. He’d been thirteen, watching a film with his Uncle Ben. Ben had slipped him a sip of his beer as they watched the movie and Peter had pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose importantly, feeling very grown up. The Peter of now, however, had a combination of prescription medication in his system and his rather unpredictable Spider-Man metabolism, the latter of which he was still trying to work with and figure out. He felt like he was feeling worse and better – both heightened, and dull, all at the same time. It was like his spider-sense was working at top speed while simultaneously not even working at all.  
  
Peter swayed on his feet to lean against Harry. Harry sighed and let him.

“Where’s your phone?” Harry asks. Peter slips his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Harry.

“What’s your code?”

“Oh-eight-ten,” Peter mumbles. Harry enters the passcode and scrolls through Peter’s contacts, eventually coming to _May Parker._ He calls, and May immediately picks up on the other end of the line.

_“Hello? Peter?”_

“Sorry, May. It’s Harry. Peter isn’t feeling well,” Harry speaks into the phone.

“Oh. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” May says. Harry honestly adored May and her willingness to drop anything to help Peter.

Ned entered the kitchen, smiling. It was only when he noticed Peter that his face fell.

“Pete, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” Peter replies.

“He was perfectly fine five minutes ago,” Harry said. “Making out with Betty Brant and everything–”

Ned said _“What?”_ at the same time as Peter protested, “I was not… _making out_ with Betty. I just… we just… kissed, that’s all.”

Harry bit his lip and sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this. He was concerned, yes, but he couldn’t help the creeping bitterness. “Whatever.”

Peter frowned, looking up at Harry. He looked like a kicked puppy in human form. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Dude!” Ned said, “You _kissed_ Betty Brant? Liz’s best friend–”

“Ned, can we talk about this later? I kinda wanna die right now,” Peter’s voice was lazy as he spoke.

“You shouldn’t be reacting this badly,” Harry deadpanned. He was concerned, but also bewildered.

“I have… uh… a _weird_ metabolism?” Peter means it as a statement, but it comes out as a question. Harry frowns but says nothing.

In that moment, Peter decided that he _most definitely_ was never drinking alcohol again.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry sat on Jason’s sofa, one of the few that had stayed. May had picked up Peter and Ned two hours ago.

 _“Do you want a ride?”_ May had asked Harry as he helped Peter into the backseat. Harry was grateful for the gesture – it made him feel almost _wanted_ – but he couldn’t bring himself to accept. He just wanted time to think right about now, and _Peter,_ ridiculously enough, was part of the problem.

“You okay?” Michelle sat beside Harry. Harry didn’t look at her as he spoke.

“Do you want the real answer or the one I’ve been telling myself for the last two hours?”

Harry meant it as a joke, but his voice sounded hollow. Michelle said nothing, but the silence was enough.

“In all seriousness,” Harry deadpanned, “I kinda wanna throw myself off Brooklyn Bridge.”

 _In all seriousness,_ he didn’t – not really – but he was tired and feeling drained and this party had turned out to be yet _another_ terrible experience to file under the many others of his short life. His thoughts were swirling every which way and his stomach felt bottomless.

“I don’t know, seems a little bit dramatic,” Michelle said.

“I don’t know,” Harry repeated in her tone, “My father would probably milk my death as a tragic accident to increase sales. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Who’s the winner?”

“Me,” Harry says with a trace of humour, “death _and_ a tragic legacy.”

Michelle scoffed. “We seem to have the weirdest conversations.”

Harry shrugged, “I’m friends with Ned and Peter. They regularly have debates about _Star Trek._ _Every_ conversation for me is a weird conversation.”

“Yeah, I, uh, sit at your table,” Michelle says.

“You don’t sit _with_ us though. Why is that?” Harry asks, trying to take his mind off of… whatever it was that wouldn’t leave his brain. A thought that had no name or true form just yet.  
  
Michelle sighs. “Well, Ned and Peter get picked on a lot. And they’re fucking losers but they don’t _deserve_ that. So, I just… started sitting there. And Flash would stop picking fights. So, I stayed,” she looks down, “don’t tell them I told you that.”

“Who would’ve thought,” Harry half-laughed, “that Michelle Jones was secretly a softie.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Michelle joked, completely straight-faced, “or I may have to kill you.”

“Please, do it. Saves me having to walk to Brooklyn Bridge, remember?”

Michelle laughed. Her laugh was throaty, deep. Harry looked down.

“Thanks, Michelle.”

“Call me MJ,” she insisted, “All my friends do.”

“So, are we friends then?” Harry said.

“Honestly, I adopted you the moment you showed up at _Midtown.”_

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“So, Spider-Man can’t drink alcohol?” Ned summarised. Peter laid on his stomach, his arms folded underneath him. He looked up at Ned seated on Peter’s swivel chair from his position on his bottom bunk.

“I want to die,” Peter groaned. He’d never thought it was possible to feel ill and not ill at the exact same time, and yet, here he was.

“Man, that sucks,” Ned says. Ned span around on the swivel chair. 

“I wish Harry had come, you’re boring.”

Peter scoffed into his pillow. “Well _so-rry.”_

“Speaking of Harry,” Ned said. Peter looked up suddenly. “He said you _made out with Betty Brant?”_

Peter’s shoulder’s loosened. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting Ned to say, he wasn’t even sure why he’d been so tense. Still, he felt a shock of relief.

“Umm,” Peter bit his lip, “Yeah. I kissed her.”

“What was it like?”

“Ned-”

“Was their tension? I bet there was tension.”

“Ned-”

“Oh my god, are you two going to _date?”_

“Ned!” Peter managed. Ned stopped talking.

“I’m really tired. I just wanna sleep.”

 _“Fine,”_ Ned pouted, “but you are _telling_ me in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more mj visibility that everyone has been so desperately asking for x


	19. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s voice hitches up a notch. He looks up at Tony, ever the authority figure. “Are you here to apologise?”

Peter Parker lounged with his feet up on the sofa as the credits rolled for his latest binge watch of _Steven Universe._ Ned sat on the floor with a LEGO _Millennium Falcon_ in front of him as he diligently worked his way through the small instruction manual.

There’s a knock on the apartment door.

Peter goes to stand, however, May quickly appears and opens the door. In the doorway stands Tony Stark, looking far more tired than Peter thinks he’s ever seen him. Peter wonders for a shiny moment that their little… _fight_ four weeks earlier had taken a toll on Tony – but he instantly regrets the thought. He’s supposed to be _mad_ at him, after all.

 _“May,”_ Peter whines, “why’d you bring Mister Stark–” 

May closes the front door. “Well, what was I _supposed_ to do? There isn’t exactly a _wikiHow_ article on _what to do if your superpowered teenager comes home drunk–”_ _  
_

“I wasn’t _drunk–”_ Peter began to protest.

Ned’s eyes went round as Tony Stark entered the living room. He instantly got to his feet and saluted. 

“Who’s this?” Tony asks, directing it at Peter. Peter says nothing.

“I’m Ned Leeds. His guy in the chair,” Ned says with utmost confidence.

“Guy in the chair,” Tony repeats. Ned nods his head dumbly – starstruck. Tony redirects his attention back to Peter.

“Have fun at your little high school party, kid?” Tony says. 

Peter looks down at his feet. 

“Peter kissed Betty Brant!” Ned suddenly burst. May raised an eyebrow. Tony, on the other hand, looked frankly amused. Peter shot a scorching look at his best friend. _“Dude!”_

“You _know_ I can’t keep secrets,” Ned rationalises.

“We,” May said, gesturing from herself to Peter, “are talking about this later.” May offers a teasing smile before disappearing down the hallway, leaving Peter with Ned and Tony.

 _“Greaat,”_ Peter’s voice hitches up a notch. He looks up at Tony, ever the authority figure. “Are you here to apologise?”

“No. I’m here to talk about your little… episode yesterday.” Tony says it plainly. Peter’s taken distinctly aback by Tony’s tone. It’s calm, collected, perhaps a little tired – but not as welcoming as it had once been. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Peter said in a small voice. 

“Cut the bullshit, Peter,” Tony says lazily, “I know you’re mad at me for not telling you about Goblin but it’s not my fault for wanting you to stay safe. Now are you gonna tell me what happened yesterday or am I gonna have to call up your little friend Harry? He was there, right?” 

Peter clenches his jaw slightly, not looking at Tony. Ned stands awkwardly between them, watching.

“I had one drink,” Peter says finally, speaking slowly, “I was fine for about thirty minutes. Then suddenly I just… went into overload. It’s like my spider sense was working ten times harder than it usually was, but at the same time it wasn’t working at all… I don’t know, it’s hard to explain…”

“There’s so much about your physiology that we don’t know yet,” Tony states, “You’re still grasping this whole _superpowers_ thing so you’ve gotta be more careful.” 

“I’ll look out for him, Mister Stark,” Ned says. 

“I’m _always_ careful,” Peter replies with a little too much confidence. Both Tony and Ned frown at this. 

“Oh, like at the Washington Monument. And that little fiasco with the Staten Island Ferry. And–” Tony sighs inwardly as he recalls more incidences, “when Ned found out you were Spider-Man. When May found out you were Spider-Man–” 

“Yeah, okay,” Peter says, “I get it. I’ve done some…” 

“Dumb things,” Ned deadpans.

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter said sarcastically.

Tony takes his phone out of his pocket. “I want you to come to Avengers Headquarters next week so we can figure out what happened. Always good to understand yourself a little better. I’ll send Happy to get you.”

“Happy hates me,” Peter grumbles. 

“Happy hates everyone. Tell your aunt she can call me any time if she needs someone to keep an eye on you–” 

“I–” 

“No buts,” Tony deadpans, “Happy will text you the details next week. Don’t go to any more parties.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry had woken up several hours ago, but couldn’t seem to find the will to hoist himself out of bed. He’d stared upwards, his eyes almost glazed over as his eyes traced over the shadows making shapes against the high ceiling. He’d cycled through every song on his phone, which mostly consisted of _Matchbox Twenty, The Lumineers,_ and _Simon & Garfunkel. _His mother had always loved music.

He was overwhelmed, but not in the debilitating way people usually meant it; he was overwhelmed in such a way that it was so all-consuming that it had reduced to a dull throb in his stomach. He was even sure what he was overwhelmed _by,_ he just knew he _was._ Something, _something_ inside of him had felt amiss ever since the night before. When he’d…

_When he’d seen Peter kissing Betty._

He rolled over to his side. He didn’t particularly see any point in getting up. His father was probably working on something or other, despite it being the weekend. _Oscorp_ had always been his father’s first love. Anything that needed to be done had probably been done by his father’s many underpaid employees. Madeline would come get him if he was needed – she always did.

He pulled his blankets over his head, irrationally dreading the coming school week.


	20. Stupid Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mister Osborn,” one of the men said. He was older than Norman by perhaps ten years, with greying hair and age spots. “Oscorp Industries is in great danger of being shut down.”  
> Norman scowls. This was a problem. “Our sales are through the roof.”  
> “For now,” the elder man replies. “But once the public learns of nine geneticists being found dead, and another missing, due to one of your secret experiments… the public will demand a shut down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is to old readers; if you are new to this fic, just ignore this) so this is the first chapter i've written since revising some of the previous ones. in order for this chapter to flow correctly and make total sense you'd have to have gone through and reread the revised chapters. you dont _have _to have read the new chapters to get it, but it would be recommended if you just... reread this fic from the beginning. the new chapters don't alter the harry storyline, but it does heavily affect norman's characterisation and his arc.__

Norman Osborn paced his office in _Oscorp_ tower as he waiting for the Board to arrive with his hands behind his back, giving off an air of sophistication. The worst days, Norman decided, was when the Goblin was completely dormant. Usually, it would feel like a whisper in his ear, or cold breath on his neck causing his hair to stand on end. Today there was nothing. Once upon a time, a younger Norman Osborn would have dreamed for the Goblin of his childhood to just leave him alone. It had been always there, in the corner of his eye.

 _“We don’t have enough money for you to throw away your food, Norman,”_ his father would chastise him. Norman would look down at the food on his plate and then to their family pet; a large, overweight dog. Young Norman felt bitter towards the wet-eyed monster.

 _Yet you can afford to fatten up our stupid dog,_ Norman thought.

He had stood above the monster, a warning glint in his eye, and soon the dog was bleeding, bleeding out on the grass outside. Norman’s twelve-year-old hands stained red.

 _“Norman!”_ his father shouted in vicious anger. He tossed Norman to the side to better see the dog. Norman’s head hit solid ground and tears welled up in his eyes.

_“Why would you do such a thing? You fucking–”_

_“I didn’t do anything, Father!”_ Norman begged as he pulled himself up the best he could. His eyes stung. _“The Goblin did it!”_ _  
_

“Goblin… what fucking Goblin? You fuckhead kid just murdered the fucking dog!”

The Norman of now could recall the scene well. He’d seen it… the Goblin approaching the dog, the Goblin leaning over, leering… knife drawn –

He shook away the memory. It, like many from Norman’s childhood, wasn’t a good one. He felt almost sick to his stomach to even think about it.

The door to his office unlatched and seven men walked in, all with clip boards and suits. They looked very solemn as they entered and took their seats. Norman placed his best charismatic smile firmly on his face as he looked over the group. They did not oblige with a returning favour.

“Mister Osborn,” one of the men said. He was older than Norman by perhaps ten years, with greying hair and age spots. _“Oscorp Industries_ is in great danger of being shut down.”

Norman scowls. This was a problem. “Our sales are through the roof.”

“For now,” the elder man replies. “But once the public learns of _nine_ geneticists being found dead, and another missing, due to one of your secret experiments… the public will demand a shut down.”

Norman swallows. The Goblin had murdered his staff, just as he’d killed the family dog – and just like then, Norman was the one who had to pay for it. “The public won’t find out, Mister Fargas.”

Fargas’ eyes widened in concern before his eyebrows knitted together. “You see the death of those brilliant minds as nothing less than… a scandal that needs to be hushed up? Families are demanding retribution for their deaths. Doctor Lowell’s mother is heartbroken because her son is _missing._ This is a little more than just a case of you saying the wrong thing.”

Norman clenches his jaw. “And what do you expect _me_ to do about that?”

“You’re the CEO. Everything that happens is under _your_ command. I’ve been _lenient_ with you, Norman. You’ve had a tough couple of years. But I, and the rest of the Board, shall not allow you to continue acting as CEO if you do not cause for immediate action. I suggest you arrange a meeting with your management and organise a press conference discussing how you seek to rectify the situation and restore public trust.” Norman’s eyes narrow as Fargas speaks.

“You can’t fire me,” Norman speaks with terrifying tranquility. “I’m all this company has.”

“Companies can thrive with new CEOs. Why, look at _Stark._ The CEO of _Stark Industries_ is, as I recall, Pepper Potts, and has been for seven years. You just dislike the idea of giving up the only power you have.”

“I have more power than you could imagine,” Norman manages. “You aren’t taking my company from me.”

“I can and will. So I would suggest complying with my wishes.”

Norman says nothing. He clenches his jaw as the Board members all rise from their chairs and exit his office. Norman’s face feels suddenly hot.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry hadn’t spoken almost at all, all day – and this wasn’t noticed by anyone more than Peter. Peter felt as though, suddenly, something had shifted between them. However, he couldn’t pick _quite_ what that was. Harry didn’t seem _sad,_ just… distant. Like he was in some kind of intense deep thought. Had Peter done something wrong? He scanned through his recent memory to be sure. The last time he’d seen Harry prior to today had been at Jason’s party – Peter had (as Ned would remind him) kissed Betty Brant, and then begun to feel sick. Harry had appeared by his side to help him, had called May, and then… almost _blanked_ him. MJ had messaged him, yesterday, the morning after the party, that something seemed up with Harry. Supposedly, she’d spoken to him at the party after Peter had left. But Peter hadn’t thought anything much of it; after all, being mildly depressing seemed to be part of Harry’s rich boy schtick.

Peter entered his history class alone for the first time in forever, and Harry already sat at their desk. He seemed particularly zoned out, and Peter was reminded of himself when he’d forgotten to take his medication. He slid into the seat beside Harry, watching his face in hopes that Harry would start a conversation. _Anything_ at all would be fine.

“Are you okay, Har?” Peter said. Harry suddenly snapped out of his daze to look at Peter perplexedly.

“What did you call me?”

“Har. Like Harry. But short, y’know?” Peter managed an awkward smile.

“But _Harry_ is already short. For Harold.” Harry reasoned.

 _“Har,”_ Peter emphasised, and for the first time today Harry took a moment to properly look at Peter, “are you okay?”

Harry swallowed. He felt like his voice was caught in his throat and he couldn’t say why. It was just a question. Peter’s face looked so _genuinely_ concerned, and despite May and Peter having no blood relation, he could truly see May in his mannerisms. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been quiet all day,” Peter says, “I just… I thought you were… mad? At me?”

 _Not quite,_ Harry thinks, _I don’t know what I am._

“I’m fine. Really.” Harry forced a smile. 

 

 


	21. Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Haven’t you learned anything from last time?” the Goblin scoffs. “You are nothing in comparison to me. You will never be remotely as powerful–”  
> Spider-Man did a backflip, using his legs to hit the Goblin square in the face. “No? Well, at least I don’t monologue like you do. I’ve had lectures that were more interesting than this!”

One of the biggest things Harry Osborn could remember from his childhood was the yelling. His father, the cool, collected businessman would stand before Harry’s mother as she yelled at him tearfully. It was such a frequent happening. She didn’t like his inattentiveness or his seeming lack of feeling and would scold him for it on the regular. Norman would fight back but never shout. He’d raise his voice a notch, but always keep level like some kind of microaggression. His arms would remain stiff behind his back, his jaw clenching – maybe even once his eyes would flicker with anger. He never hit, never maimed. But Harry _knew_ Norman’s presence hurt her.

 _Mom,_ Harry asked, aged five. He was a small thing, pale and gangly. His mother had told him once that the reason he was tall was that, as a baby, Willy Wonka had run him through a stretching machine just like Mike Teevee. _Why are you and Father still together if he makes you sad all the time?_

She’d been sat by the firelight with a book in her lap that she hadn’t been reading; only mindlessly staring at for hours without turning a single page. Even as a child, he’d known something was wrong with his mother whom he held so dear. She sniffled as Harry had come closer, drying tears still glistening in the light. Harry clambered onto her lap, pushing the book aside. His mother wrapped her arms around Harry’s small body.

 _It’s very complicated grown-up stuff, Harry,_ his mother spoke softly in the way that only the best mothers could, _I… I love your father. I really do. He’s just–_

 _A meanie,_ Harry supplied. His mother didn’t laugh, pulling Harry closer. Harry leaned into his mother.

 _I know he makes you cry,_ Harry had put his small hand over that of his mothers, _and that makes_ me _cry._

 _Don’t worry about me,_ his mother had said gently, your father is a good man. _Stubborn and hard, but good._

Harry didn’t believe her. After all, his father wasn’t _anything_ like what Harry considered ‘good’. Norman Osborn wasn’t Harry Potter; he was Lord Voldemort. He looked disbelievingly at his mother with his tongue stuck out almost in disgust.

 _I mean it._ His mother’s voice was hollow. _Your father’s had… he’s had a hard life. So sometimes he doesn’t love in the right way. But he loves you. And he loves me._ She seems to say the last statement as if she is reaffirming it to herself.

 _Emily!_ Norman’s voice called down from the outside hallway. He opens the door, _Harold’s missing – oh._ His eyes fall at Harry, comfortable in his mother’s arms. Emily Osborn looked up at Norman, using her right hand to brush away any more tears. Harry had grown to hate it when people called him ‘Harold’. That had been what his father used to call him. But not his mother – to her, he was ‘Harry’, and so Harry he was.

 _It’s fine, Norman,_ Emily’s voice sounded distant. Gone was the maternal voice from a few moments ago. This was stern, warning. Daring Norman to make a fuss. _I think it’s time for bed,_ Norman says to Emily before directing his attention to Harry. _Harold, off to bed._ He’s noticeably businesslike as he says it; as if he were speaking to his personal assistant and not his five-year-old son. Harry got off his mother’s lap. Emily had kissed Harry on the forehead before he scarpered back to bed.

Harry could remember that so vividly. Age five, as he lived it, it hadn’t seemed like much. His mother so frequently cried and Harry so frequently hugged her, but that day had found new meaning in his mind. That night had been the one Norman had enrolled Harry for boarding school in Paris. That was night, Harry felt, everything changed.

“I’m going out,” Norman said to Harry as he lounged across the red leather couch. Norman turned up his nose as he looked down at Harry. Harry couldn’t care _less_ anymore, as his feet rested atop the couch. Harry didn’t benefit his father with a response.

“I’m going out,” Norman repeated with firmer diction. Harry looked up at Norman.

“Good for you,” Harry said, offhandedly. Norman’s brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. Harry swore he could see the vein in Norman’s neck throb. Harry looked away from his father with coolness. Norman eyed Harry’s shoes on the couch, glaring. “Sit properly.”

Norman said this harshly, his businessman demeanour dropping as Norman’s anger raised. Harry had thought that, ever since his mother died, that Norman got angry way too easily. A month ago, Harry would’ve flinched if his father had looked at him in such a way. Things were different now. Norman was nothing more than a man; a very bad one at that. Norman pressed the elevator button and the doors opened. He entered, not looking away from Harry. Harry didn’t give his father the satisfaction of a second glance.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter Parker was having a crisis; and as most teenagers in crisis do, Peter went to McDonald’s.

He had what felt like fifty-thousand thoughts running through his head. The thought that next weekend he’d be forced to face Mister Stark about what had happened between them and Peter wasn’t sure if either of them were willing to reconcile. Peter missed Tony’s attention, sure. But he shouldn’t want the attention of someone who won’t respect him enough to tell him what’s going on.

He was also plagued with guilt over kissing Betty. Betty was cute, she was… safe. She was  _nice._ He’d enjoyed kissing her. But at the same time… Betty was Liz’s best friend. Peter had liked _Liz_ only five months ago. He’d _fought her dad_ only five months ago. She’s had to relocate because of him and now he was kissing – had kissed? – her friend. He wasn’t sure of the status he and Betty held yet. And Harry… God, he was most of all worried about Harry. He’d been so distant, he hadn’t even called to see if Peter was alright after the party – not that Peter was _waiting_ for it or anything. Peter _knew_ Harry had a hard life, no matter how Harry dreaded to admit it; Peter just wasn’t sure _how_ hard Harry’s life had been. Harry had hardly spoken about San Francisco, and despite spending most of his life in Paris, Peter had never heard him give it any more than a passing mention. Yes, _Harry_ had been the number one worry on Peter’s mind, and he wished it would stop.

He sucked the straw of his creaming soda absent-mindedly. The light outside had faded, darkness having fallen over the city. Five months ago, if he’d pulled something like this after nightfall, his Aunt May would’ve called him seventy times by now. Since she’d learned of his identity as Spider-Man, she’d stressed a little less about him being out on his own. That was to say, she’d called about twice. He shot her a quick text to tell her he was alright and slipped his phone into his pocket again.

There was something eerie about public places later at night, whether it be indoors or outdoors. McDonald’s was no different. The lights inside were a bright whitewash across the empty chairs at empty tables. A television was up on the wall. There was only one other person in the restaurant. He was a strong, muscular man with blond hair. He looked no older than about thirty-five. The man kept glancing over at Peter.

Peter’s brain went into overdrive. The hair on his arms stood on end. His spider sense was going wild; Peter could only assume that it was because of the man, when –

The television swapped programs. A Breaking News segment flashed on the screen. The newscaster was a dark-skinned woman with black hair. She spoke with a monotone voice, as newscasters do.

“After a month’s absence from the public eye, the mysterious _Green Goblin,_ who stopped an attempted robbery at _Oscorp Industries_ on the twenty-sixth of March, has been sighted in public once again. The Goblin was spotted flying two blocks away from where he was last sighted–”

Peter’s eyes lit up. This was it; the chance to figure out who the Goblin was. He looked over to the blond man who was now looking away from Peter. Peter popped the lid off of his drink and chugged it to a finish, before rushing out to the McDonald’s. He darted to the closest alleyway and tossed his bag to the wall, webbing it to the highest point he could manage. He pulls off his shirt at top speed. Good thing he’d taken to wearing his suit underneath his clothes.

Spider-Man shot a web from his spot on the ground to the highest building he could see from his position. He pulls at the webbing, using the momentum to propel himself forwards.

 _“Peter,”_ Karen spoke within his suit, _“what are you doing?”_

 

“I’m gonna catch the Green Goblin guy!” he says.

“But Tony Stark told you not to,” Karen deadpans.

Spider-Man sighs. “What Mister Stark doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

_“But Peter–”_

“Karen, I will deactivate you if you don’t shut up!” he snaps at the AI, feeling instantly bad. Karen falls silent.

“Karen,” Spider-Man says. Karen doesn’t reply.

He lowers himself down onto the roof. For once, Peter didn’t have the time to worry. He was too focused on the task at hand. He looks down at the street. Nothing. He can hear the sound of an engine in the air, and he looks up to where the sound is coming from. There, in the distance, is the Green Goblin. He’s standing on his glider. It’s green and has edges that looked so sharp that Peter worried that, if the Goblin were to charge at someone, they would be stabbed to death. The Goblin heads towards a very familiar looking tower. _Oscorp._

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The Goblin was strong, stronger than Norman Osborn. Sharper. Norman Osborn was smart, yes – brilliant, even – but the Goblin… he was a genius. He rose high above the city The Board of Governors, _Oscorp’s_ Board of Governors, would be meeting any moment now. They would meet, and the Goblin would do what he’d always done – protect Norman.

The serum had done both Norman and the Goblin some good. The Goblin hadn’t been so in control in, well… ever. Norman would take the wheel, doing almost all the work. He feared the Goblin; he could sense it in Norman. But no matter… Norman would learn to appreciate what he’s done for him. For them.

He hovered above _Oscorp,_ moving towards the ninety-third floor. His vision was so much better than it had been just a month ago. He could see all the way into the meeting room. He’d have to thank the Starks for incorporating such massive windows into the building at some point. He pelted towards the tower in full throttle, approaching the window.

He could see Fargas – the chairman of the Board – rise from his seat in disbelief as he eyed the Goblin through the window. Goblin approached the window, hovering a metre away from it. Fargas approached it. Suddenly, in one harsh motion, the Goblin forced his fist through the glass, wrapping his fingers around Fargas’ neck. He hoisted the man up in the air. There was something particularly satisfying to the Goblin about seeing Fargas’ eyes bulge out of his head in complete and utter fear. This wasn’t anything like the Goblin had experienced. Killing Mei Stromm and her fellow scientists was necessary. Killing Norman’s childhood pet was necessary. Killing Maximillian Fargas – that, was fun.

“Remember me?” the Goblin says in a gravelly voice. Fargas, despite his struggle, frowns in confusion, when suddenly his expression morphs into one of shock.

“Norman, you–”

“Norman’s not home right now,” the Goblin tightens his grip on Fargas’ neck, placing his index finger on his neck vein, slowly cutting off his blood supply. “Just me.”

Fargas struggles underneath the pressure. A force hits Goblin suddenly in the back. He drops Fargas from the shock. Fargas gasps for air as he hits the ground. Spider-Man holds to the building with his hands. The Goblin growls.

“You again?” Goblin shouts.

“Don’t mind me, Gobby. I’m just hangin’,” Spider-Man quips, literally hanging off the building. The Goblin diverts his attention temporarily to him.

“Haven’t you learned _anything_ from last time?” the Goblin scoffs. “You are  _nothing_ in comparison to me. You will never be remotely as powerful–”

Spider-Man did a backflip, using his legs to hit the Goblin square in the face. “No? Well, at least I don’t _monologue_ like you do. I’ve had _lectures_ that were more interesting than this!”

The Goblin does a slight spin from the force of Spider-Man’s kick. This did nothing except anger him. He charged towards where Spider-Man was residing on the window, leering. Spider-Man jumped out of the way with perfect timing. The Goblin went straight through the glass, skidding into the room and head-first into the table. Goblin rolled over to face Spider-Man.

“I’m taking you in,” Spider-Man said, aiming his webshooter towards Goblin. Goblin reaches for his belt and pulls out a small, spherical object. It glows orange. He throws it at Spider-Man, but the latter swerves. The spherical object detonates in the air behind Spider-Man’s head.

“Hey, don’t do that! That kills people!”

Goblin rises from the ground and resecures his glider at his feet. It roars to life. He plants another one of his spherical objects on the ground. Without haste, he quickly takes to the sky before Spider-Man can do anything to stop him. He clambers in through the gaping hole in the side of the room. He offers his hand to Fargas to help him up.

His spider sense goes off. His hair stands on end. His mechanical eyes widen as he looks between the people. “Is everyone okay?”

Three… two… one. The spherical object goes off, and Spider-Man jumps backwards out of impulse. The entire room explodes as the bomb detonates, killing the Board instantly.


	22. Hermione Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mister Osborn, do you think you might have a crush?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was gonna post this like two days ago, however parts of what was going to be in this chapter ended up being moved to a later one, and yet still this chapter ended up longer than i'd intended. anyway, here you goooo

Peter sat, shaken. There was very minimal damage to the ninety-third floor, but it felt huge. This was bigger than the Staten Island Ferry incident by _far._ This time, people were dead. Innocent people. People with jobs and families and… Peter had done nothing. It was like Uncle Ben all over again. He’d had the power to help, but his instincts had won out over his sense of responsibility.

Billows of smoke took to the sky. Blue and red lights flashed in the faraway streets in the dark. Peter could see them move towards _Oscorp_ Tower. Sirens blared. Peter swallowed, hard. He pulled his mask off of his face. He’d seen men _die._ Ten men. _Ten men._ Suddenly everything, all his petty drama… it seemed so insignificant. His eyes felt wet. He was sure that if he thought about it for a moment more, the tears would most definitely spill over.

The police skirted around _Oscorp_ Tower in one direction with the fire department in the other. Peter thought he should most definitely leave, but he couldn’t look away. Several firemen rushed inside the building at top speed, disappearing within the tower.

His phone rang. Peter reached his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his phone. The Caller ID read _May Parker._ Peter swallowed and picked up the call, putting the phone to his ear.

 _“Peter Benjamin Parker!”_ May’s voice was harsher than he’d ever heard it. _“You come home right now – I saw on the news that –”_

“I’m… I’m sorry, May,” his voice broke slightly, “I… I couldn’t…” 

May was silent for a moment. _“I’ll come get you. Peter, where are you–?”_ _  
_

“I’m… just at _Starbucks,_ just… just across the road from...” He doesn’t finish. 

_“Okay,”_ May says, “Be there soon – I love you.”

She hangs up. Peter sat in the darkness. Despite the noise, it felt as though he was drowning in silence.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry couldn’t sleep. He was thinking far too much for that. He’d checked his phone about five times as he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He found he’d do that a lot. He refreshed both his _Instagram_ and _Twitter_ feeds multiple times. Nothing new aside from a few new tweets from John Cusack. He rolled over. He wanted to talk to Peter, but he didn’t know what about. Everything and nothing at the same time. He wanted to sit beside him on a rooftop in the dark and talk about life like a pair of kids in an indie film. He hoped Michel Gondry would be the one to direct the fake-deep-tragedy of his life.

He sat up in his bed. Sleeping didn’t appear to be working in his favour. He checked the time on his phone. Ten minutes to midnight. He supposed Madeline would be up and working; she worked until two in the morning on weekdays. Harry wished his father wouldn’t work her so hard. If Harry – _when_ Harry – inevitably took over _Oscorp,_ his first demand would be that she and other just like her wouldn’t be overworked to the dangerous levels that Norman insisted upon.

Harry pulled himself out of bed and tossed a shirt on. He crept out of his room. The lights in the house were dim. In the last month he’d gotten used to the halls of the penthouse, though there was still something about it that felt like less than home. It felt temporary. He walked down the stairs to the kitchen. He could hear movement. Madeline swept the kitchen with a broom in hand. She looked up at Harry as he appeared at the bottom of the staircase.

“Mister Osborn, what are you doing awake?” Madeline said in a more parental way than Harry had even heard from his own father, even despite the use of his formal title. Her  dark brunette hair was pushed behind her ears neatly. Harry thought she looked rather like a longer-haired Audrey Hepburn.

“Sorry, Madeline,” Harry smiled weakly, “couldn’t sleep.”

“Understandable, Mister Osborn. I’ve had many a sleepless night myself.” She offers a small smile before turning on the kettle. Harry takes a seat at the bar stool across from where Madeline stood at the counter. He bit his lip.

“Something seems to be bothering you.” Madeline disappears into the pantry for a moment. She reappears with a box of drinking chocolate mix. She places it beside the kettle as she waits for it to boil.

“I’m a teenager; isn’t everything?” Harry replies with a hint of humour. A moment of silence aside from the faint bubbling of water. Madeline turns the kettle off. Harry sighs. 

“It’s just… you know Peter? My friend? He was here a few weeks ago?”   
Madeline smiles weakly. She uses a teaspoon to put drinking chocolate mix into a mug and then pour hot water. “The cute one with the curly hair?” 

“Uhh…” Harry manages, the back of his neck suddenly feeling hot, “I guess. Anyway… I don’t know. Things have been… weird? And I don’t know why. And I guess it’s my fault, in a way… He kissed Betty Brant, you see, at this party. He doesn’t even _know_ her… at least not that _I_ know of. I mean, he _might_ know her, I probably wouldn’t know… I _mean,_ uh…” Harry was aware he was rambling now. “I just… I don’t know how to make it… _not weird_ for me. I don’t even know _why_ it’s weird. He can kiss whoever he wants–”

Madeline pours milk into the mug and pushes the hot chocolate towards Harry. Harry looks up at Madeline. “Thanks.”

Harry takes a sip of the drink. Madeline ponders what Harry has told her. The poor, _poor_ boy. Son of Norman Osborn, future heir to _Oscorp_ and the Osborn fortune. Soon to be plagued by tabloids and paparazzi when the inevitable came and he took over. _If the Media caught wind of the possibility that…_ Madeline watched Harry as he shrunk in his chair as his rambles died down. 

“Mister Osborn, do you think you might have a _crush?”_

Harry choked slightly on his drink. He lowered the mug from his lips and looked up at Madeline in surprise, the heat rising from his neck to his cheeks, ever so slightly noticeable as a light pink tinge on his pale face.

“No.” Harry deadpanned, “Definitely not.” 

“Are you _sure?”_ Madeline asked. Harry felt like there were rocks in his stomach. _A crush? No._

“I don’t really… get crushes on people,” Harry put his mug on the countertop. He hadn’t had a crush on anyone, really, with the exception of perhaps Hermione Granger – in the books, not so much the movies – but he assumed that didn’t count. 

“Not even once?” Madeline asked, “even as a kid?” 

Harry shrugged. “Was never really… a thing. I was the weird American kid at a French boarding school; one of many kids whose daddy didn’t love them. There wasn’t really anyone to get a crush _on.”_

Harry took another sip of his hot chocolate. What _was_ a crush, really? Harry felt nine-years-old again, like it was summer break and his mother was jokingly asking him if he had a crush on any girls. He’d thought _Hermione Granger_ then, too. And why wouldn’t he? _She was cool._

Harry withdrew his phone from his pocket out of nervous habit and refreshed his _Twitter_ feed again. On the news page, number one trending highlight, was an attack at _Oscorp._

Any and every thought about _crushes_ and _Peter_ and _Hermione Granger_ was gone from his head. He tapped the news story and swiped through the highlight. The first tweet:

 _“BREAKING: Green Goblin sighted again; Spider-Man destroys Oscorp Tower.”_ Pictured was the tower, with its ninety-third floor – second from the top – almost completely collapsed, at least from what Harry could tell from the photograph. He swiped to the next tweet. _“Attack at Oscorp Tower leaves ten dead.”_

 _Ten dead._ His father was working that night… if he… Harry closed the _Twitter_ app, not wanting to see any more.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Norman Osborn’s head throbbed. His eyes stung, and his sinuses felt like they were on fire. He’d lost control of the Goblin, and that was completely and utterly terrifying. He supposed he’d never truly be able to escape him. The thought made him feel almost sick to his stomach.

He was both hot and cold at the same time. Norman’s vision cleared and he looked around him, realising that he had found himself to be on the roof of his apartment complex. The spring air felt moist. At least he’d managed to keep his shirt and pants in tact.

He headed for the door to enter the stairwell into the building. _Surely_ Harry would be asleep by now. Norman wasn’t quite sure _what_ the time was, but he presumed it was after midnight. His hand wrapped around the doorknob and he pushed against its steel frame, only to find it was locked. A groan escaped Norman’s mouth. Of _course_ he’d be so unlucky. His eyes scanned around the rooftop in search for a better way: the fire escape. His only way. If his memory served him correctly, the fire escape entrance to his apartment was on the lower level. The way their apartment was constructed meant that it had a total of three levels; the middle, which acted as the entrance; the top, which mostly consisted of Norman’s study; and the bottom, which involved the kitchen and cleaning equipment. He’d only hoped that Madeline would have the good sense not to make a comment if Norman were to appear through the fire escape.

He swallowed his pride and clambered down the metal stairs. They were slightly rusted and flaked up under his hands, the dark residue standing out against the whiteness of Norman’s skin. Norman had always hated being pale. The bruises would always show up more prominent that way.

He lowered himself to the window and tapped on it. Madeline came to the latch with confusion across her face. “Mister Osborn? What are yo–”

“Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Norman says quickly, recomposing himself to try to appear more dignified than a man who had just climbed down his own fire escape after being locked out.

“Father?” Harry looked up at Norman. He was seated on a bar stool, with a mug of what appeared to be hot chocolate in his hand. His cheeks were tinted red. His phone was laid face down on the countertop in front of him. Norman supposed Harry had heard the news. “You’re… you’re okay.”

“Yes, yes, yes, I’m _fine,”_ Norman says impatiently. Harry tenses slightly at his father’s tone, which Norman doesn’t miss. _Why_ Harry seemed so content with people like Madeline but so on edge with him, he’d never understand. Madeline wasn’t anything special. Nothing more than yet another person in New York who had big dreams that were cut short by lack of ambition or talent. Norman couldn’t relate.

Harry mumbles something under his breath, something Norman doesn’t quite catch.

“What did you say?” Norman asks Harry to repeat. Harry’s face goes a darker shade of red. 

“I said _‘Sorry for caring’.”_ Harry speaks. He takes a final sip of his hot chocolate before placing it on the counter, finished. Madeline immediately takes the mug and places it in the dishwasher. Harry stands.

“Thanks, Madeline,” Harry says, before shooting a – not quite angry, more sad – look at his father. Harry turns and walks up the stairs.


	23. Where Will You Be, When... The Spider Strikes!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Spider-Man visited you because Peter told him to?” MJ asked, incredulously. When it was said like that, Harry realised it did sound ridiculous. “What was he like?”  
> “Short,” Harry deadpanned.

“Peter, you’ve gotta get up for school.” May’s voice is muffled through the door. Peter rolls over in his bed. His stomach feels hollow. He’d been alternating between crying and feeling numb for a good portion of the night before. He just couldn’t shake the all-consuming thought that _he could’ve stopped it._

“Tell them I’m sick,” Peter calls with a croaky voice. He hears May sigh.

“Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Peter wraps himself in a blanket cocoon and tries to forget.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Tony Stark knew the tabloids. He knew they would do _anything_ for a story, even tarnish someone’s reputation. He’d learned to ignore it; most people worth talking do didn’t take to such gossip. However, the _Daily Bugle’s_ vendetta against Peter – or rather, Spider-Man – was so extreme, that Tony wondered how Peter could possibly cope.

The headline read _Masked Man-Spider Attacks Oscorp._ Beneath that, the subheading said _Where Will You Be, When... The Spider Strikes!_  It was quite ridiculous. But Tony knew the public would eat it up. The public had no problem in believing that Tony had attacked their new _hero,_ the Green Goblin, with Spider-Man. Now, they had more solid evidence to believe that he was, in fact, a masked menace just as the _Daily Bugle_ said he was.

He knew _why._ J. Jonah Jameson, the _Bugle’s_ editor and head writer, was infamous for reporting alleged _scandals._ He’d gained a cult following among conspiracy theorists for _saying the truth._ If any news company in the world made up _fake news,_ it was the _Daily Bugle_ under J. Jonah Jameson.

He’d be seeing Peter this weekend, and as much as Tony hated to admit it, he was excited. Peter was smart. _More_ than smart. He was _intelligent._ Tony remembered finding Peter online. It had been simple. _Spider-Man_ had gained a fairly large following on _Youtube_ for his videos, ranging from stopping buses to your average stunts. He’d become a phenomenon. Cultists on the internet had been debating whether he was super-powered or just _really_ good at editing, but Tony could see. He could _see_ this kid was special. A quick hacking through the kid’s account revealed it to be connected to the email address _peterbenjaminparker2@gmail.com,_ and Tony did a look through the city’s database to find someone by that name, and sure enough, he found the fourteen-year-old Peter Benjamin Parker from Queens, New York, whose uncle had died just two weeks before Spider-Man had made his first proper appearance as a hero.

 _“When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t. And then the bad things happen. They happen because of you.”_ That’s what Peter had said. Tony didn’t know the details surrounding his Uncle Ben’s death, but those words had struck a chord with him. Peter, despite his age, despite his apparent immaturity, was far more burdened then he’d _ever_ let on. Tony both hated and respected that Peter had a natural inclination for doing good. Peter couldn’t _see_ that, sometimes, it was in his best interests to just keep his head on the ground. Whether as Peter _or_ as Spider-Man.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry walked the halls with Ned, the latter talking animatedly about the most recent episode of _Doctor Who._ Something about emojis and robots. Harry thought that many of the shows and movies that Ned and Peter watched sounded like a strange fever dream.

 _Peter…_ for the first time since Harry had begun at _Midtown,_ Peter wasn’t at school. It felt odd. Madeline had asked the night before if Harry had a _crush_ on Peter, and Harry said it was ridiculous… but privately, he couldn’t stop the tug at the back of his mind. He didn’t _know_ how he felt. _Did_ he have a crush? He’d never had a crush before… how did it _feel?_ How was someone supposed to know?

Ned and Harry sat down at their table. MJ was reading yet another book. The title was hidden partially by her hand, but Harry could make out the words _Breaking Twig._ MJ looked up and scowled slightly. “Where’s Peter?”

“Sick,” Ned says, simply. MJ watches Harry, as if she had known _exactly_ what Harry had been thinking moments ago. Harry shifted awkwardly under her gaze.

“Good to have you back, Harry,” MJ says, “why didn’t you sit with us yesterday?”

“I just…” Harry bites his lip. He’s still not sure. Was it because of _Peter?_ “Needed some space?” Harry phrases it like a question.

“Oh,” MJ says, not seeming entirely convinced. Ned shrugged.

“Give the man a break, his dad’s tower blew up.”

“It didn’t _blow up,”_ Harry said, “It was attacked.”

“By Spider-Man, apparently,” MJ added.

“Spider-Man wouldn’t do that.” Ned coughed.

MJ shrugged. “Oh, right. You _know Spider-Man._ Just like Peter does.”

“Peter _does_ know Spider-Man,” Harry interjects, suddenly defensive. Ned frowns for a moment.

“Yeah, okay,” MJ replies with dry disbelief.

“I’ve met Spider-Man,” Harry added, “a few times. He showed up at my apartment after my first day. He said Peter sent him.”

Ned looked surprised at this. He frowned. “Really? Peter didn’t tell me about that.”

“Yeah, well. It happened.” It was one of the main reasons Harry didn’t believe any of the _Daily Bugle’s_ anti Spider-Man propaganda. Spider-Man had seemed so completely compassionate, albeit awkward. In fact, he reminded Harry of Peter, just the slightest bit. No _wonder_ Peter and Spider-Man were friends.

“Spider-Man visited you because Peter told him to?” MJ asked, incredulously. When it was said like that, Harry realised it _did_ sound ridiculous. “What was he like?”

“Short,” Harry deadpanned. Ned snorted at the comment.

MJ pondered for a moment, when the bell rang. She immediately slipped her book in her bag and stood up without a word.

“She scares me,” Harry tells Ned.

“Me, too.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter’s phone vibrated on his bedside table, causing a loud rumbling sound against the plastic. The sudden noise after hours of silence surprised him. He rolled over in his blanket cocoon, his hand shooting out from between the sheets. He grabbed his phone and checked the Caller ID. _Ned Leeds._ He picked up the call.

_“Peter! Why didn’t you tell me you visited Harry as Spider-Man?”_

“Uh…” Peter said, barely comprehending what Ned said. Why _didn’t_ he tell Ned? He’d visited Harry multiple times as dear webhead. Perhaps he’d wanted to keep those moments private, though there wasn’t anything particularly special about them. But… something about it was almost intimate. Especially the last time he’d done it. He’d just had his fight with Mister Stark, the Goblin had only just appeared. That felt like so long ago, though it was just barely a month. He’d considered, in that moment, to reveal his identity to Harry. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what might’ve happened if he’d gone through with it, if Harry knew. _Would they still be friends? Would they be better off? Or would things be worse?_

“I didn’t think it was important for you to know,” Peter offered in response to Ned.

_“But why?”_

“Why what?”

_“Why would you visit him? How many times have you done it? Do you visit other people? I bet you visit Betty–”_

Ned said this all _very_ fast. Peter cut over him. “No, I don’t visit Betty. I don’t visit anyone.”

 _“Except Harry.”_ Except Harry. Harry was _different._ Harry _wasn’t_ Betty. Peter actually _knew_ Harry. He knew that his favourite show was _Gossip Girl,_ even if he’d never say so. He knew that his favourite colour was yellow. He knew that he was sadder than he’d ever let on. And he knew that Harry needed a friend. So _what_ if Peter didn’t know the details of what brought Harry to New York; the important thing was that he knew him _here_ and _now._

“It’s complicated,” Peter said, simply. Peter didn’t have an explanation. He’d been _worried_ about Harry, the first time. But the subsequent times, the last time… that had been for comfort. Peter couldn’t explain exactly _why_ Harry felt like such an important fixture in Peter’s life, and all this time he hadn’t been conscious of it. Two months ago, Peter barely knew who he was. He’d so readily bailed on him to be Spider-Man. _But now…_ He shook his head. “Ned, I’m really tired. Can I go back to sleep now?”

_“Fine.”_

Peter lays down and stares up at the underside of the top bunk, more confused than ever.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter wasn’t at school the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Harry wished his brain would shut up and stop making him stress out about it. It was _perfectly normal_ for someone to get sick, especially in the spring. Harry had to fight the urge to call Peter as soon as he got home every day. If he wanted to talk to Harry, surely he’d call first?

Friday came to a close, and Harry leaned up against his regular spot at the pole outside the school. Students bustled around, some waiting for buses, some walking home, others just hanging around with their friends. He wondered what they all thought of him. These kids were all super smart, and it was known by this point that Harry was _not._ Did they think he was snobby? More importantly, did Harry _come off_ as snobby? He pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his bag and opened it. He looked inside the packet. He knew it was bound to happen eventually. _He was down to his last one._

He lit in and pressed it between his lips. Ned and MJ had a meeting with the mathletes that afternoon (Harry knew because MJ had spent the entire day complaining that Peter would miss _yet another_ meeting) and Harry was left totally alone. That was, until Jason Ionello approached him and leaned next to him at the pole.

“Hey, man. Long time no see,” Jason said.

“We have English together,” Harry deadpanned.

Jason shrugged. “So, uh… about last weekend…”

Harry tensed slightly. Had it really only been last weekend? Had Jason’s party, where he’d witness Peter kiss Betty and everything had suddenly gotten _weird,_ really happened only _last weekend?_

“What about it?” Harry took a drag of his cigarette, cooly. Internally, he was dying.

“Well, uh. Peter and Betty, y’know…” Jason trailed slightly, “Do you… do you like…”

 _Oh no,_ Harry thought, _No._

“Do you like _Betty?”_

Harry frowned. _That_ was not what he’d been expecting. Jason thought he liked Betty? Harry didn’t even _know_ Betty.

“No!” Harry said, quickly.

“Really?” Jason said in surprise, “I just thought, well… you seemed upset after…” he stopped. Harry didn’t say anything, looking anywhere but at Jason. Harry _didn’t need this right now._ Not when everything was so mixed up already. Jason’s face changed from a scowl of confusion to sudden clarity. “No _way.”_

Harry swallowed. “What do you mean _no way.”_ Harry tried to keep his voice level. Cool.

“You like _Peter–”_

 _“No!”_ Harry emphasised. _He didn’t like him. He didn’t like him. He didn’t like him._

“I never would’ve thought _you’d_ be gay, Osborn,” Jason said. There wasn’t any malice in his voice, but it still felt _wrong._

“I’m not gay,” Harry said. He wasn’t. The word didn’t _fit._

“Bi, pan? Whatever. It’s chill, dude,” Jason says it casually, but Harry does _not_ feel casual, and he most definitely did not feel _chill._

“I don’t like Peter,” Harry said aloud for the first time, and for the first time, Harry realised how fake they sounded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "where will you be, when... the spider strikes!" is actually the title of a marvel story that came out the year before spidey debuted about a spider that gained human abilities.


	24. Stark Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony raises an eyebrow. He grabs a small remote off of his counter and presses one of the buttons. A holographic screen appears, with headline news in large print across it. The Daily Bugle.  
> “I told you to stay out of trouble. I told you I’d deal with it. How many times–”  
> “I had to do something.”

Peter rolled over in his bed, his hair a mess from days of not brushing it. He felt weak, but awake. It was Saturday. He groggily checked the time on his phone and saw it was ten-oh-one am. Beneath the time, a notification for a text. For the first time, Happy Hogan had texted him.

**_Be ready at 10:30._ **

_Shit._ Peter thought. He’d forgotten that today was Stark Day. He’d been so focused on everything that had happened in the past five days, that Mister Stark had slipped his mind. He rolled out of his bed and hastily forced his blue _Midtown_ sweater over his head and a pair of sneakers. Mister Stark was already mad at him, he had nothing left to lose by dressing in what is essentially pyjamas.

He stuck his head out of his bedroom, looking down the hallway. He could see May leaning against the countertop in the kitchen with a mug pressed to her lips, deep in thought. Her glasses were perched on her nose and a thin dressing gown was wrapped around her body. Upon noticing Peter, she forced a smile.

“Hey, Pete. Happy called ahead to say he’d be picking you up in half an hour.” 

“I know,” Peter said. “Well, I didn’t know he _called_ you, but I know he’s coming to get me.” 

May smiled weakly. She pulls a plate out from one of the cupboards and a loaf of bread. “Let me get you breakfast.”

Peter watched warily in silence as May moved around the kitchen. She places two slices of bread in the toaster. Even though she was right there, she seemed distant. It reminded him of how she’d been about a year ago, after Uncle Ben had died. January last year – almost sixteen months ago – he’d been taken from them by nothing more than a petty thief. The first month, May had cut herself off from her friends, even her best friend Anna. The only person she would speak to was Peter. The second month, she’d force a smile. She’d power through it, trailing off in thought only when she’d permit herself to. This wasn’t nearly as severe as when Ben died, but it was clear something was bothering her.

“May, what’s wrong?” Peter said. May shook her head.

“Nothing, just… thinking.” 

“It doesn’t seem like nothing.” 

The toast pops. “I’m great, Peter. It’s just adult stuff.”

 _Adult stuff._ He hated that. He was almost sixteen. He didn’t need to be left out of the conversation all the time. May places the two pieces of toast on the plate and butters it. Peter wonders how long she’d been stressing about… _whatever_ she was stressing about. He wonders if there was _any_ way he could fix that.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Happy.

**_You better be ready, because I’m picking you up in ten minutes and I’m not waiting for you._ **

He sighs. May passes him the plate and he begins eating the toast. It’s jam.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

After his small fight with his father, the air in the Osborn household felt tense. Or tense-er. More tense. Harry was too braindead from tiredness to English properly.

He’d stayed up late the night before, doing anything to shake the thoughts that had taken hold at the back of his mind. He _didn’t_ like Peter. Jason was just being ridiculous. Yet, Harry couldn’t deny how fake the words sounded in his mouth when he spoke them (Is it possible to lie without knowing it’s a lie?) or how completely convinced Jason seemed to think he was. Maybe _that_ was it. Jason’s sincere belief had warped Harry’s mind somehow. Tricked him into thinking he _liked Peter._ Which he _didn’t._ Harry was sure he most definitely was into _girls._ He’d had a crush on the book version of Hermione Granger after all. Harry had kissed his fair share of girls, too, among _other_ activities.

 _You hadn’t had crushes on those girls, though._ Harry reminded himself. That was true. It was strange, to him, that so many of his friends were perfectly content in just sleeping with a stranger and that would be it. Yet, he’d do it too. Anything to be part of the crowd. They’d _congratulate_ him like it was some kind of award because _Wow, Osborn, she’s really hot,_ and Harry had to force himself not to admit that he hadn’t noticed. Sure, he noticed _pretty_ people. He noticed that Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds were pretty people. But he didn’t want to _sleep_ with either of them. He wasn’t like those dudes who would talk incessantly about everything they’d _do to Blake Lively_ or _Emma Watson_ or _Jennifer Lawrence_ or whoever else the female celebrity of the week was.

He hadn’t been doing very well at _shaking those thoughts,_ apparently.

He’d spent the night watching _Netflix._ He watched the first ten episodes of _Doctor Who._ _Not_ because Peter liked it, _that_ would be something people with _crushes_ do. He decided his earlier assessment had been correct: the show _was_ like a weird fever dream. But in a good way, he supposed. He understood why Peter liked it. It was high energy, plus enough interwoven historical and science-fiction elements to keep it interesting. Harry considered texting Peter that he’d been watching it. He decided against it.

There was a slight tap on his door, and Harry groggily managed a “come in.”

The door unlatched and Madeline stepped in. She had a waffles with strawberries and cream on a plate and a hot chocolate balanced on a tray. Harry sat up.

“You don’t have to–” 

“I wanted to.”

She places the tray on his lap. Harry bites his lip for a moment.

“Madeline,” he says, “How do you know if you have a crush?” 

“It’s different for everyone. Some people get crushes very easily, some don’t get any crushes at all. Some fall slowly, some think it’s love at first sight. It all depends on the person. Emotions are complex; to give a simple answer would be… ingenuine.” 

She smiles.

“You have a husband. And children. _Surely_ you could at least give me more than that.” 

Madeline sighs. “My first husband, the father of my children… he died, a long time ago. My second husband, he… he and I haven’t been in love for a long time. It’s just what happens.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry sees she smiles weakly. She reminds him of his mother.

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, your question has me wondering… could this potentially be about Peter Parker?” 

Harry scoffs a little too obviously, a slight heat rising to his cheeks. He can’t bring himself to say no. 

“He’s very cute,” Madeline adds. 

“I… I guess,” he manages weakly.

_Lying again._

He was _definitely_ cute. In that understated way. Not the sort of person you’d necessarily notice in a crowd on the street, but the kind of person that you’d see sitting on the bus and have to fight the urge to strike a conversation with.  

Madeline smiled, but it didn’t meet her eyes. Harry wondered what she was thinking.

“Your father wishes to see you at three pm,” Madeline says. 

“What for?” 

Madeline moves to the door. “I’m not important enough to know.”

She closes the door behind her, leaving Harry with plenty to think about.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

 _“Where Will You Be, When… The Spider Strikes?”_ Tony says firmly, as Peter walks into view. Happy Hogan is looking quite grumpy as he walks beside Peter. One of the _last_ things he wanted to do on a Saturday was _babysitting._

Peter frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Tony raises an eyebrow. He grabs a small remote off of his counter and presses one of the buttons. A holographic screen appears, with headline news in large print across it. _The Daily Bugle._

“I _told_ you to stay out of trouble. I told you I’d _deal_ with it. How many _times–”_

“I had to do something.”

“People are dead.”

They stood two metres from each other. Peter felt a surge of anger course through his veins. 

“You’re a terrible mentor,” Peter said. He feels a burning behind his eyes. He can’t cry; not in front of Mister Stark. Tony’s face relaxes from a frown. “If you _actually_ cared you’d ask how _I_ felt. Aren’t you ever sick of _blaming_ me–” 

“I’m not blaming you.” 

Peter tenses his jaw. “It sure feels like it.”

Tony wanted to kick himself. _Why couldn’t he say the right thing?_ He _knew_ that the kid wouldn’t listen to him; he knew that he’d find it hard to cope. Yet, here he was making it worse. Tony noticed that Peter looked tired. His eyes looked sunken into his skull, ringed with purple. His hair, his usually neat curly hair, was a total mess. He’d shoved a school jumper over pyjamas. He was, undoubtedly, a wreck. Tony wondered if Peter had gotten a good night’s rest since Monday.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony spoke softly. “Sometimes I forget that... you’re just like the rest of us.”

“Human?” Peter snaps back snarkily. 

“An Avenger.”

Peter and Tony are silent for a moment. Tears spill over the edge of Peter’s eyes. He rubs them away. Tony swallows as he watches Peter recompose himself. He’s not… quite sure… what he’s supposed to do in this situation. Should he pat him on the back? Should he give him a treat? Peter steps forwards and wraps his arms around Tony. Peter’s a few inches shorter than Tony, making it easy for Tony to place his arms awkwardly around Peter. It was almost like… having a son. Happy awkwardly watches as the two, man and boy, hug. A beat passes, and then another. Peter pulls away, sniffling. “What about those physiology tests, then?”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

For the first time in the last week, Peter felt better. He felt like a weight had been lifted off of his chest. He felt like he could come back from whatever the universe decided to throw at him. Most importantly, Tony _didn’t_ hate him. Tony considered him almost… an equal. That’s more than Peter ever could have asked for.

On top of that, the physiology tests had been… interesting to say that least. There was the obvious super strength, flexibility, wall-crawling, and sensory skills. But he also found he had a healing factor, faster metabolism, superhuman durability, _and_ enhanced stamina. It was, to say the least, a lot to take in. He swung from building to building, feeling the air against his skin through the suit. He had to admit he’d missed this. He’d only gone five days without donning the mask, but it felt like five days too long. Spider-Man was a part of him. No matter _what_ problems fell upon him because of it.

He dropped down onto Harry’s windowsill. He still wasn’t quite sure why he was so drawn to Harry. Perhaps it was the fact he hadn’t seen him since History class on Monday. Perhaps he just wanted to see him. He _knew_ it was dangerous, meeting Harry so frequently as Spider-Man. After all, he’d just have to think a bit and realise that Peter and Spider-Man were the same person. He just couldn’t stay away.

He didn’t even have the time to tap on the window when Harry unlatched it. Spider-Man stepped inside the room. Harry didn’t even seen particularly shocked.

“You’ve got to stop doing this,” Harry says. He doesn’t mean it sincerely. Spider-Man can tell by the awkward smile he’s hiding in the corner of his mouth. 

“If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” Spider-Man says. He doesn’t even try to disguise his voice anymore.

Harry seems agitated. Like something was chewing away at him. Peter was reminded of May this morning, zoned out and disoriented. Peter wondered how many people he’d let suffer internally because he hadn’t noticed there was something wrong. Harry had _said_ he was fine on Monday, but clearly it had culminated into something else. 

“Are you okay, Har?”

Harry suddenly snaps out of his thoughts. “What did you call me?”

 _Shit. Shit. “Har_ ...ry. That’s your name. Would you rather _Harold?_ Or Theopolis? Theo?”

Harry raised an eyebrow up at Spider-Man. Peter desperately hoped Harry bought his recovery. Harry brushes it off. He sighs. “I’m fine. Just thinking about stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” 

Harry sighs. “I think I like someone.”

 _That_ had not been what Peter had been expecting. His heart feels like it drops to his stomach. Harry… _liked_ someone? And he hadn’t noticed? Peter’s voice feels caught in his throat. “What’s she like?” 

“They’re…” Harry pauses, “They’re great. Smart. Funny, even if they don’t realise it. I don’t even _know_ if I like them, mind you–” 

“Do you think she’s cute?” Spider-Man says.

“Uh,” Harry bites his lip, “yeah. They are.” 

Peter tries not to ponder on who this mysterious girl could be. What girls did Harry speak to? Peter hadn’t seen Harry show interest in anyone in particular. Except maybe…

“Is it Michelle Jones?” Spider-Man asks. Harry’s head shoots up.

“What?” his voice raises an octave in surprise, “No!”

“Oh, well… would I know them?” Spider-Man backtracks. So it wasn’t MJ.

“I don’t know who you know,” Harry deadpans. His body stiffens slightly. _Oh right,_ Peter thought, _I’d forgotten that part._

“Oh, yeah.”

Harry waved it off. “You know, I bet I could spot you. In your civilian form.”

Spider-Man had to fight the urge to scoff. “Oh, really? I doubt it.” 

“I’m serious. I bet I could spot you from a mile away. You’re probably the sort of guy that’s on the sports team but isn’t popular. Like, the nice jock who you’d greet in a hallway and you’re on friendly terms with. Or you’re like the drummer in a rock band where everyone adores the singer.” Harry’s ideas of what Spider-Man could be in his civilian life were amusing. But not at all Peter. Peter wondered for a moment, if he were to tell the truth, would Harry be disappointed?

“I’m not interesting enough to be either of those people,” Spider-Man said, “I’m boring as hell. My entire life revolves around school and Spider-Man.”

“So you’re a student,” Harry says. Peter mentally scolds himself. _Idiot._

“A _boring_ student,” Peter emphasises, “I’m so boring you could be looking right at me and not even know it’s me.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “I don’t believe you. If I met you on the street, I think I’d just _know.”_

“Bold of you to assume we haven’t met before.”

Harry frowned for a moment. He stepped back from Spider-Man subconsciously. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, well, look at the time,” Spider-Man says, not actually looking at the time, “guess I’ve gotta go.” 

“Spider-Man–!” Harry says as Spider-Man tries to leave, but before he can stop him, Spider-Man jumps out the window and swings away.

Peter can’t believe he did that. He _actually_ said that. To Harry. He was most _definitely_ going to figure it out now. _Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._ What would happen if Harry realised? Would he confront him? Did Peter have to block him on every form of social media? What about real life? Could he block someone in real life? He supposed that’s what restraining orders are for. Could he put a restraining order on Harry? Then, could he continue on as normal without Harry in his life? The more Peter thought about it, the more it freaked him out. _How could he be so careless?_

He didn’t realise until he got home that, when speaking of his crush, Harry had never used female pronouns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is... quite full.


	25. Boys In Crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You the myster’os buyer,” Lobo states – not questions – intending for confirmation.

Francisco Lobo walked the streets of New York, his suit done up well. His hair is closely chopped to his scalp. His tall stature and powerful demeanour earns a few looks from passersby, but for the most part many avoid him, intimidated by his intense presence. And so they should be – he’s one of the most powerful crime bosses in New York. Not that any of the general public _knew,_ but he liked to think that the people around him could feel the air shift as he entered their proximity. He turned a corner, down an alleyway. The high mid-day sun allowed shining light into the alley. The streets seemed much less fearsome under bright light.

He looked back for a moment, checking he wasn’t being followed. _All good._ He was to meet his mysterious financer today, and – as much as he hated to admit it – it daunted him. He’d been communicating with this buyer through their assistant one and off for almost two years. _Two years_ of being financed in return for doing small deeds. Under the radar stuff. Hijacking vans, stealing blueprints. Small things. It was a mutual relationship. Lobo had the money to keep his syndicate in order; the buyer could get deeds done without it tracking back to them.

Lobo hears a faint noise by a trash can. He quickly turns his head to look, but there’s nothing there. He could’ve sworn that for one moment, it felt as though he was being _watched._ However, the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Lobo continued down the alley and ducked into a building.

Inside was large and spacious. It looked as though it had once been used for something important, but had since been abandoned. Lobo had only lived in New York for six years, and couldn’t recall in that time this building was anything of importance. Why had the buyer chosen to meet _here?_

A figure emerges from the shadows. He’s tall, well put-together. His posture is strong and dignified. His face held the semblance of perhaps once being extremely handsome, however, age had lined his face in an unflattering way. Most importantly, Lobo knew exactly who this man was.

“Norman Osborn,” Lobo said.

“Lucky Lobo.” Despite the frankness of which it is said, Lobo can hear the charisma dripping off of Osborn’s tongue. He was most definitely a man that knew how to negotiate.

“What are you doing here?” Lobo asks, despite knowing full well the answer. Of _course_ it would be _Norman Osborn._ No other man with that much wealth was quite as ruthless as he.

Norman raises an eyebrow, not speaking a word as he raises his chin slightly to give off an air of superiority. Lobo knew, from the stories, that Norman Osborn was terrifying to be around. But he’d never seen the man in person to be sure that it was true.

“You the myster’os buyer,” Lobo states – not questions – intending for confirmation.

Norman _smirks._ “Guilty as charged.”

“You had my guys rob _Oscorp,”_ Lobo states, once again. This time, for clarification. _Why_ would he hire someone to rob his own company?

“Mister Lobo, surely you understand that there are many complexities to business,” Norman says calmly, as if reading his mind. Lobo says nothing, the gears in his head turning.

His instructions that day had been simple: have their ‘most expendable’ rob _Oscorp._ In the event of being caught, the buyer would see to it that they would be released. That had been a month ago, and Aleksei Sytsevich hadn’t been yet released.

“And,” Norman continues, “I am here to offer you a deal.”

Lobo perks up. A deal with a billionaire isn’t something you experience everyday.

“I am generously offering you a large sum of money if you would only turn your syndicate over to me.”

This is _not_ what Lobo had in mind.

“My syndicate is all I have.”

“And, if you take my offer, _wealth_ is what you will have. And wealth is power.”

Lobo narrows his eyes. “Seems awf’lly odd to hear ya say that, seein’ as ya power couldn’t stop ya entire ninety-third floor blowin’ up.”

Norman clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing with a sudden intensity. Lobo suddenly knew what the stories meant by terrifying.

“You’d be giving your low-life ‘employees’ a better chance,” Norman speaks with forced levelness.

 _Low-life._ It didn’t shock Lobo that Norman would see them like that. _Lesser_ than him.

“The answer is no,” Lobo speaks with confidence.

Norman straightens his posture even more. Suddenly, the man’s body seems to relax. He smiles. “I understand.”

Lobo looks up at Norman with faint surprise. He didn’t think that he’d be so… accepting… of his response.

“Don’t look so surprised. I shall not waste your time any further.” Norman turns to leave.

“Norman,” Lobo says suddenly, a question on his mind, “why’d ya pick this building to meet?”

“Well,” Norman says, “because it’s the original _Oscorp_ headquarters.”

Norman continues on his way. As he exits, his smile drops. He hadn’t anticipated Lobo would be so firm. He’d hoped that the temptation of money would make him more… malleable. He’d been a disappointment in that regard.

 _No matter,_ Norman thought. He’d have his way.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry stood, watching the spot at the window where Spider-Man had been moments ago.

_Bold of you to assume we haven’t met before._

The thought sunk in that Harry had _met_ Spider-Man, in his civilian form as a _normal_ person, before. Did Peter know who Spider-Man was? Spider-Man _had_ said he was a student. Of course, that could mean he’s anywhere between fifteen to twenty-five, but still… Peter _was_ friends with Spider-Man, enough for the latter to visit Harry upon his request. What if Spider-Man went to _Midtown?_ What if he’d spoken to Spider-Man on a regular basis, and he’d never known it?

 _Oh, god._ Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about this revelation.

On top of that, the realisation was setting in that Harry had told a complete stranger that he _likes_ someone. Or at least, thinks he likes someone. He still wasn’t _entirely_ sure. The point still stood that Harry had told Spider-Man, someone he _didn’t know,_ someone who knew Peter… Harry shook his head. Being in a constant state of panic lately was exhausting. He kind of missed the dullness of a life before Peter Parker. It had been messy and lonely, but consistent. Day in day out, shuffled from home to school to party to home to school to therapy. Nowadays, if Harry were to attempt to draw out his life on a map, it would be wildly incoherent.

Harry sighs, steps backwards, and sits on his bed. He flops back and stares at the ceiling. He needed a cigarette. He’d run out two days ago. He hadn’t realised hw _dependent_ he was on them until suddenly he couldn’t smoke anymore. His mother had always said that she worried he would become an addict.

More pressing matters came to the forefront of his mind. His father wanted to meet with him at three pm. Three hours away. He wasn’t sure he was prepared for whatever his father wanted to yell at him about this time. He hadn’t really spoken much to his father since their fight on Monday night. That had been six days ago. He’d been expertly avoiding his father by actively getting up and leaving rooms when his father walked in them, using Madeline if he _absolutely had to_ say something to his father. He even blacklisted the word _Oscorp_ on _Twitter,_ after seeing one particularly annoying tweet praising his father for being so brave after all the issues with _Oscorp_ in the past few months. His father _wasn’t_ brave. He was exploitative and unempathetic. His entire _Board of Governors_ had died, and father hadn’t made more than a passing comment about how things happen sometimes, that he knew something like this was bound to happen in New York, etc etc. He sometimes wished that a family doctor, or an old therapist of his, would accidentally-on-purpose leak some medical records. Mental health statements. Something to end the constant praise.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Ned sat at Peter’s desk chair as Spider-Man clambered in through the window. Ned watches as Peter removes his mask and flops onto the bottom bunk of his bed.

“So, how’d it go?” Ned asked.

“How did what go?” Peter asked in response.

Ned raised an eyebrow. “Your meeting with Tony Stark!”

“Oh, yeah.” Peter sits up and faces Ned. Ned spins the desk chair around in the direction of the bed.

“So… did you find out what was happening?”

Peter sighed. “So as it turns out, I have a healing factor–”

“That’s so cool–!”

“–among other things.” Peter tried to remember what Tony had told him upon observing his physiology. “Apparently, the reason I got so _sick_ last week after one thing of beer or whatever was because my metabolism worked too fast and my body was trying to heal me all while my spider sense was going off. A bit of a cluster of my body going into complete overdrive.”

“Oh,” Ned added, deflating slightly, “not so cool.”

Peter bit his lip, unsure if he dare say what he was thinking. What Harry had said had made him curious. _Who_ did Harry like? He’d said ‘they’, not ‘she’; essentially, he could’ve been talking about _anyone._ _Smart. Funny. Cute._ Peter internally sighed. He was sure a fair majority of the people at the school fit that description. Sure, Harry _might’ve_ been talking about a girl, as Peter had originally assumed, but the pronouns seemed oddly deliberate. Peter cleared his throat.

“Ned… is…” he pauses for a moment, “is Harry gay?”

Ned raises an eyebrow up at Peter in surprise. “I don’t know, why?”

“Just something Harry said. Got me thinking.” That’s really, fundamentally, all it was. Peter wanted to know who this mysterious person – boy, girl, or otherwise – that Harry had a crush on. Maybe Peter could invite the person to join their friend group, and Harry would hate Peter for it for a while, but then Harry and the person fall in love and get married and Peter would get to be the best man.

“When’d you see him?” Ned said curiously, before pausing, “did you visit him as Spider-Man again?”

“Maybe. Anyway… so Harry told me, well, _Spider-Man,_ that he has a crush on someone. Well, he said he wasn’t _sure_ if he had a crush on them, but he _also_ said they were funny and smart and cute, so…”

“So you want to try to figure out who it is?” Ned finished before adding, “But what does that have to do with–”

“He was kinda vague. I asked about ‘her’ and he said ‘they’ were cute and funny and smart and whatever.”

“Right. So, what? Are you gonna make a list of every person in the school who is funny, cute, and smart and then just… what?”

Peter pauses. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

There’s silence between the two of them. Ned looks down at the ground awkwardly. Peter breaks the silence. “If he were, y’know, gay or… _bi_ or whatever, it wouldn’t matter to you, would it?”

“It’s 2017,” Ned deadpans, “we have bigger things to worry about then who people wanna kiss.”

“Yeah,” Peter manages, “yeah, I guess.”

“Why?” Ned asks, “would it be a problem for _you–?”_

Ned, always with the hard questions. “No! Of course not. I just wanted to… to make sure we’re on the right page.”

Honestly, Peter hadn’t thought about how he thought of the possibility of Harry being gay. He hadn’t really spared himself the time. There’s nothing _wrong_ with it, of course. Peter, as Spider-Man, had on the regular encountered queer kids. Kids who just needed someone to talk to. Kids who were tired of feeling like they weren’t being their most authentic self. Peter offered them Spider-Man’s compassion, shoulder, and ears... because Spider-Man wasn’t _entirely_ about saving the world from bad guys, he was also about lifting up the outcasted. Sure, _perhaps,_ there were some… _personal_ feelings in the mix. A seven-year-old Peter Parker seeing Wesley Crusher in _Star Trek_ and thinking that _perhaps_ he was a little cute, or a ten-year-old Peter seeing Randy and Norah together on the playground and feeling that first spark of jealousy because they _both–_

Peter swallowed. It didn’t _mean_ anything. He didn’t need this. This was about _Harry._ And Harry liked someone.

Peter’s stomach lurched at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been kinda planning the "reveal" or whatever to you readers that peter is bi for a while and i haven't rlly properly been able to merge it but now it's here the "Bisexual Peter Parker" tag has been officially added to this story  
> it's been a harder thing to integrate because this story is mostly from harry's perspective and well... he doesn't know, so... (neither really does peter but that will be Explored in a way that hopefully doesn't feel like just another retread of harry's arc so far)


	26. New Coat Of Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norman steps towards his son. “I’ve built this life for you in blood and now you wish to turn it down?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so this chapter is a few days later than i usually would post, but there's good reason: this chapter is almost three times longer than my usual chapter. that is all.

Harry lingered outside his father’s office at _Oscorp._ He very rarely visited his father at work. Not since they’d arrived. If he could help it, he’d avoid _Oscorp_ altogether. He’d come to hate his name the slightest bit. The power was nice, the authority was nice. But the attachment, the fact that no one would look at him and see more than just Norman Osborn’s son. He raised his fist and tapped lightly on the door. His father’s voice called through the door, “Come in.”

Harry pushed the door slightly and saw his father standing at the window. Forever looking imposing. He had his back to Harry as the younger Osborn entered. Harry stepped deeper into the office. Norman swivelled on the balls of his feet swiftly to face him. Norman’s jaw clenched the way it always seemed to.

“It’s about time you shaped up,” Norman said. Harry scowled.

“What do you mean?”

Norman sighed. “In due course, it seems likely that I will not be CEO anymore. However, it is likely that _you_ will become my successor.”

“What?” Harry’s voice raised slightly, “But why–”

“Before the… sad demise of the Board, they had put it to a vote to have me taken out. I have discussed at length with several members of my team that you will be instated as CEO in the next two years.”

“Two years–? Father, I’m only sixteen – eighteen by then. I’m not _qualified–”_

“–you will be,” Norman’s eyes flashed something sinister. Harry tried desperately to fight the inner child that screamed in his mind to stand down.

“What if I don’t want to?” Harry says, “What if I say no?”

“Then you would be very foolhardy.” Norman straightens his back, standing a good head over his son now. Harry was tall, but Norman was taller.

“Well then I guess I’m a fool,” Harry says.

Norman steps towards his son. “I’ve built this life for you in blood and now you wish to turn it down?”

Harry said nothing, looking up at his father with their equally piercing gaze. Norman is the first to break eye contact.

“You’re selfish.” Norman almost spits the words at Harry.

Harry bites his lip and says nothing. He looks up at his father and shakes his head.

“No, _you’re_ the selfish one. I’m _tired_ of you treating me like something sub-human,” Harry takes a step forward, his face inches apart from Norman’s.

“Ever since she died, I wondered why she did it. _How_ could she do it. But now I know. She fucking _killed_ herself to get _away_ from you!”

Norman winced. Harry took a final look at his father and turned, leaving the office. Harry couldn’t believe he’d _said_ that. _Oh god._ He’d _actually said that._ The realisation was setting in. He walked down the halls of _Oscorp,_ passing several businessmen. They looked Harry up and down with passing judgement in the way adults do. Harry stepped into the lift. His father’s assistant, Donald Menken, was stood in the lift. His glasses were perched on his nose as always. He looked frankly bored.

“Mister Osborn. What’s wr–”

“It’s not important, Donald,” Harry said. He tried to keep his voice level. Harry fished his phone out of his jeans pocket and unlocked it. He opened his contact list and scanned down the list. He selected the contact _Peter Parker._ He shot a text to Peter.

**_Is there any chance I could stay at your place?_ **

The little _Read_ tag pops up, and a moment later the typing bubble appears.

**_why??_ **

Harry types back. **_I just need somewhere to stay._ **

**_okay_** Peter says.

Harry slips his phone back in his pocket and sighs.

...

「◆」

...

“Harry’s gonna be here in five minutes” Peter sets down his phone on his desk. Ned frowns at Peter, who has now changed into his regular clothes.

“Why?” Ned asks.

“I dunno,” Peter says. He suddenly pauses. “You _can’t_ mention his crush. Or him being gay. Or _anything_ that we talked about.”

“Right. Okay,” Ned said. He nods slightly. Peter gets up and opens his bedroom door, looking out to see if May is in the kitchen. He steps into the hall and then into the kitchen. May sits in the living room with the television on. A rerun of _Friends_ plays.

“May?” Peter says softly to get her attention. She looks up at him, listening.

“Could… could Harry stay the night? He texted me saying he needs somewhere to stay–”

May’s face softens. She bites her lip, thinking for a moment. “Of course he can.”

There’s a knock on the door. May frowns. “Is he here already?”

“Uh… yeah,” Peter says. He turns back into the kitchen and into the hallway quickly before opening the front door. In the doorway stood Harry. He was hunched over. His hair, which usually stuck up, was laying flat. His back was slightly hunched. He looked like himself, but deflated. Peter opens the door slightly wider to allow Harry in. He steps into the apartment as Ned pops his head out of Peter’s bedroom door.

“Oh, hi Ned,” Harry says. Harry didn’t mean to sound unenthusiastic, but he’d assumed Peter was alone. Harry wondered how often Peter and Ned hung out without him. His heart throbbed at the thought. He wished it would stop.

Ned smiled at Harry despite detecting the faint disappointment in his voice. Peter looks up at Harry. He looked more drained than Peter had ever seen him. _What could’ve happened in the space of a few hours?_ Peter had seen him just four hours ago… he’d been fine. He’d told Peter  – Spider-Man – about his crush. Then Peter had said… he’d basically confirmed that Harry knew Spider-Man in real life. _Bold of you to assume we haven’t met before._ Was that what was making Harry spiral? If Peter had caused this…

Ned looked between Peter and Harry, his eyebrow raised. Peter didn’t want to know what Ned was thinking. Ned paused for a moment, before eventually coming to some kind of conclusion. “I think I’m gonna go.”

“No, you can stay if you want,” Harry said, “don’t leave just because I’m here.”

“No, it’s fine. My mom needs me anyway.” Ned called back into the kitchen, “Bye, May!”

“Bye, Ned!” May calls back. Ned looks between Harry and Peter again before shuffling past them down the hall and out the front door.

Peter and Harry stood in the hall idly. Harry says nothing for a moment, looking down at the ground.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks.

“I’d rather just sit down for a bit.”

“Right.” Peter guides Harry to his room. The last time Harry had been in here, Peter had had tears glistening in his eyes as he talked about his dead parents, and Harry had realised just how privileged he personally was. After all, his father could be dead. He’d have no parents, then. He had no right to complain about his father when there were some people that would do anything to have one at all. Harry sat on the bottom bunk of Peter’s bed, and Peter sat in his desk chair. He swivelled to face Harry.

“I heard Spider-Man visited you earlier,” Peter said, breaking the silence. Harry looked up. Had that really been just a few hours ago? Time felt distant to him. “Yeah. He did. What about it?”

Harry swallowed. If Spider-Man had told Peter that he’d visited him, what else had he told him?

“Nothing. That’s all he said,” Peter replies.

Peter noticed the shiftiness. Harry clearly didn’t want Peter to know he had a crush. Did he not trust him? Peter couldn’t help but feel a little hurt at the prospect. Peter knew Harry had secrets he wasn’t telling him, and he tried to let it go because _really,_ he didn’t _have_ to know, but he wished Harry would trust him enough to allow Peter in.

Harry bit down on his lip. “Do you think I’m selfish?”

“What?” Peter said, suddenly. “Why would you… no! You’re not selfish.”

“It’s just… my father said… well… I just…” Harry looked down. “I’ve really done it this time. I told him he was the reason my mom was dead.”

“Oh.” Peter knew Harry and his father had a tense relationship. Dysfunctional. But he’d never known the full extent of their relationship. Peter hated himself a little for not prying further than just a faint curiosity.

“Yeah. And he… he said I didn’t appreciate him. That everything he’s built he means to hand down to me and I just said _no.”_

“Har,” Peter says. Harry looks up at the nickname. Only Peter called him that, and it made Harry’s lungs feel like they were full of water. Familiarity tugged at the back of his mind. _Spider-Man_ had called him that, too. He supposed he’d picked it up from Peter somehow.

“Har, you’re not selfish. You’re good. Kind. Smart. You care about politics and art. You could probably recite every episode of _Gossip Girl_ from memory. You watched all seven _Star Wars_ films because Ned and I asked you to,” Peter leaned forward in his chair, “that doesn’t sound like a selfish person to me.”

“You don’t know me,” Harry said, “not really.”

“I do,” Peter said, “I _do._ I know you. I don’t have to know your history. I know _you_ and that’s what matters.”

“How can you be so confident about that?”

“How can you not be?”

Harry looked down. “I’m really tired, Pete.”

Peter thought that if Harry spoke anymore, he would shatter.

“You can lay down if you want,” Peter said, “I’m gonna… make a call.”

Peter stood up and exited the room, leaving Harry alone.

...

「◆」

...

Tony Stark was swamped. It had been over a month since the Goblin had appeared, and he hadn’t found _anything._ Aleksei Systevich had been less than useful in informing him of any intel about who the Goblin could be. Tony had his theories; none of them made sense. Not to mention, while the Goblin had confirmed himself to be a public menace, he’d also turned public opinion against Spider-Man. Spider-Man, Peter Parker, who was only _fifteen_ and had so much to deal with.

As if reading his mind, his phone rang sitting to his left on his desk with the caller ID reading _Peter Parker._ He picks up the phone and places it to his ear. “Hello?”

_“Mister Stark. What do you know about Norman Osborn?”_

Tony frowned. “Why?”

Peter sounded as if he was almost whispering into the speaker. _“My friend. Harry. His son. The two had a fight and Harry is… he’s really distraught about it. I don’t know how to help him.”_

Tony should’ve seen this coming. He hadn’t personally met Harry, but he’d heard enough from Peter. “I can look into Norman Osborn. It might take me some time but I can.”

There was silence on the other end of the line and Tony thought for a moment that Peter had hung up, when Peter’s voice said softly, _“Yeah. Please tell me if you find something.”_

Peter hung up.

A billionaire father, distant from his only son. It’s a story Tony had heard before. A story he’d _lived_ before. Tony put his phone back down on the desk and pushed his chair in. His slender fingers moved across the keypad. He wasn’t sure if Norman would’ve changed any of the passwords upon moving into Stark – _Oscorp –_ Tower, but he had to try. He had to admit, he was a _little_ curious about Norman Osborn. Hardly anyone knew anything about him. He was good at keeping his privacy, alarmingly so for such a public figure. He seemed to only let the media be aware of the things _he_ wanted them to be aware of. So when people learned of his wife’s mysterious passing from apparent illness, conspiracy theorists jumped right onto it. Some said that she was secretly a spy and had to return to Russia (that was an odd one.) Some said that she ran away. Some more sinister ones suggest Norman killed her himself.

The internet has a way of making something out of nothing.

Tony combed through layers of protection, each layer more encrypted than the last. Norman Osborn had certainly done a number on the security. If he weren’t such a terrible person, Tony might have asked him for coffee so they could discuss their companies as intellectuals do. He couldn’t help but be slightly impressed with the man, while simultaneously disgusted. _What person could possibly upset their child enough to have them leave?_

...

「◆」

...

Norman wasn’t fond of the construction noise. It was loud and disruptive. He couldn’t focus. The slight drilling sound from a few floors above fell like it was drumming into his head, causing a splitting headache. Headaches scared him slightly. For headaches meant that the Goblin could potentially take over.

Norman wasn’t sure what to make of the Goblin. At first, he’d been terrified. Now, it was just a dull fear. The Goblin was doing what he thought was best. Those Board members would surely not be missed. Norman was sure he could contain it, splitting headache be damned.

The construction above felt like it was getting louder. Norman _knew_ they had to work on it; the ninety-third floor would not rebuild itself. However, that didn’t make it any less irritating.

The sun was setting through the window, rays of light just spilling over the top of the New York skyline. Norman thought about Harry. Harry had always been a hard case. He could never manage to do what he was told and make it easier for the both of them. Emily had always been the one that had been close to Harry when he grew up, even after he’d started boarding school. She’d make a point of collecting him from the airport herself, making sure he was okay, video calling once a week. Norman hadn’t bothered with such things. At the end of the day, Norman didn’t see it important that Harry liked him, only that he respected him.

The call symbol on his monitor popped up. The label read _Stark Industries._

Norman sat down into his chair and pushed it into the desk. He tapped the icon on the touchscreen before folding his arms in front of him. Tony Stark’s face popped up on the monitor looking very tired and _very_ irritated.

“Mister Stark, what a surprise,” Norman says.

Tony Stark doesn’t address Norman, jumping straight into, “Tell me, why is your kid staying at my kid’s house?”

“I’m sorry,” Norman feigns ignorance, “I don’t know what you mean. I wasn’t aware you had a kid.”  
_“Peter._ Why is Harry staying at _Peter’s_ house?” Tony says with faint accusation.

Norman sighs. _Why should it be any of Tony Stark’s business?_ “We had a little disagreement, that’s all.”

“Most kids just sit in their bedroom and wallow, not show up to their friends’ apartments and ask for a place to stay.”

“Hmph, yes, _friends,”_ Norman emphasises to a questioning look from Tony, whom of which raises an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, it’s just that my son seems awfully enamoured with Mister Parker. As to whether it is… mutual has been a… growing concern of mine. No matter–” he does a slight wave of his hand, “–You know, I’ve been looking into your protégé and he’s quite intelligent, isn’t he? In fact, he might even be more intelligent than  _both_ of us–”

“–You have a… _growing concern,_ did you call it? Of Harry and Peter being… together?”

“You understand that he is the heir to a company, and so must continue the line–”

“Yeah, okay, dickbag,” Tony says, “I didn’t like you before and I’m liking you less and less the more you open your mouth. Your kid’s personal life is none of your business. Neither is Peter’s.”

“I do what I like if it concerns Harry’s wellbeing.”

“Can’t you see what you’re _doing?_ You’re _damaging_ his wellbeing.” Tony pauses for a moment. He tenses his jaw. “You know, some bad parents are alcoholics. Some take drugs. Some are complete nutcases. So tell me… what’s your excuse?”

Norman says nothing. Tony gives a final warning glare and hangs up the call.

...

「◆」

...

Peter settled into his bed on the lower bunk, Harry sleeping in the bunk above. It felt both comforting and awkward at the same time somehow, knowing Harry was less than a metre away. Harry had fallen asleep at least two hours ago, tired from the day. Peter hated that Norman was so terrible. He wished that Spider-Man had the power to make all the bad in the world just disappear.  He could hear Harry’s breathing somewhere above him in the darkness, when suddenly it goes shallow. The mattress above squeaks twice and Peter hears Harry jolt awake. Peter sits up in his bed and listens out for any sounds. “Harry?”

Peter can hear Harry’s breathing quicken and Peter clambers up the ladder to Harry’s bed.

“Hey–” he sees that Harry looks paler than usual. A thin coat of sweat lines his forehead. “Harry, it’s okay.”

Harry looks up at Peter, saying nothing. His breaths slow down and he allows himself the breathe easy.

“Sorry, I just… sometimes I have this thing. Nocturnal panic attacks. They’re like panic attacks but… while I’m sleeping. I haven’t had one in forever.”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise.”

“Yes, I do. I woke you up.”

“I was already awake.”

Harry bites his lip. “I’m sorry about all this.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine.”

The two sit in silence for a moment. Harry sighs and tries to lay back down. Peter smiles sheepishly and goes to step down the ladder again, when Harry says…

“Can you… could you stay?”

It is in this moment that Harry suddenly looks so small, innocent… Peter bites his lip. He pauses for a moment, then lays awkwardly beside Harry. Harry watches as Peter adjusts himself so the two boys are at eye level with each other. Harry’s breath hitches. Harry hates himself a little bit for that.

He inhales. “I.. I went to this boarding school. In… in France.” Harry’s voice is just barely above a low whisper. He swallows, “And I got uhh… pulled out. When I was fourteen.” 

Peter already knew this part, but he says nothing. He listens intently to what Harry had to say.

“My father received a call that I’d been smoking in the bathrooms. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but… Father immediately decided that he needed to keep a _closer eye on me.”_ Harry broke eye contact with Peter for a moment as he spoke. “Which basically meant that instead of being neglected in France, I was neglected in San Francisco. I was put into this private school. And, um…”

He bit his lip. “I, uhh… didn’t have the most… _healthy_ ways of uhh… coping. With that.” Harry’s mouth can’t wrap around the words enough to properly say them. He _knew_ what he’d become, he knew what he’d been trying to change. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“It started out small. Weed at a few parties – which isn’t bad – but… it just turned into more. Within about a year, I was… I was a mess. If I wasn’t high on something, I was drunk. I would hardly sleep. I was sleeping in a different person’s bed every weekend –” _that,_ Harry thought, _was the thing he was the most embarrassed about,_ “ – I guess I was just trying to, I don’t know... feel something. Even though it just… I don’t know. Wasn’t right.”

Harry rolled from his side onto his back, but rotated his head so that he was still looking at Peter as he spoke. “Anyway… my father he… he put me into therapy, even though he pulled me out again after three months; he couldn’t understand _what_ was wrong with me. I was a failure. I would hardly even go to school any more. Father focused almost all his energies into keeping it quiet. Keeping _me_ quiet. And I…” his voice catches in his throat. “I was so caught up in… my own _shit_ that I didn’t see. I didn’t know that… my mother just slipped through my fingers.”

Peter knew what Harry was referring to. His eyebrows furrowed with concern with every word that left Harry’s lips.

“When my mother died, that… _that_ was the breaking point. He decided he was going back to New York, and dragging me with. He thought… a change of scenery. Associating with better people… he thought _that_ could fix me.” He said the word _fix_ as though he was nothing more than a mere object.

“And – to tell you the truth, Pete – I’m _fucking_ miserable. But I’m also the happiest I’ve been in a long time. And I don’t know how that’s possible.”

Peter doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to Harry before. Their faces are about three inches away from each other. Now Peter thinks about it, he doesn’t think he’s _ever_ been this close to another person, except maybe Betty. But this was somehow different. The air was thicker. Peter had just now noticed that Harry had a few sparing freckles, and he was sure he could count every one of them on Harry’s face. There were eight. Two of which looked like vampire bites on his neck.

“That’s why you were worried about going to the party,” Peter stated, “you were worried that you might relapse.”

“There’s a reason my father doesn’t allow a single drop of alcohol to enter the building.”

Comfortable silence falls between them. The two boys look at each other, neither of them saying a word. Peter rolls into his back and Harry repositions himself so they’re both looking up at the ceiling. It’s Peter who breaks the quiet.

“Maybe you don’t need to be fixed,” he says. “Maybe you just need a new coat of paint.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave comments thank u


	27. Poor Little Rich Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, Harry’s pretty cute, isn’t he?” May said smugly at Peter as he took a bite from his toast. Harry hadn’t emerged from Peter’s room yet, and Peter kept darting his eyes to the hallway. Peter choked on his toast at May’s words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i said this chapter wouldn't be coming out until next week but then i ended up finishing it earlier than i thought i would so here you go xoxoxo

Harry woke up with Peter hooked under his chin. They must’ve fallen asleep last night before Peter could work his way back into his bed. Harry was scared that if he moved, Peter would wake up. He considered the position. Due to Harry’s height, the top of Peter’s head slotted below Harry’s so he was essentially lying on his shoulder. Peter’s arms were beside him, however, Harry’s left hand was placed on Peter’s right arm. Harry quickly removed his hand and placed it to his side. He readjusted himself so he was sitting more comfortably as Peter leaned against him. It was fine. This was fine. Harry’s heart raced as he looked at Peter. His faint curls had fallen over his face ever so slightly.

 _Oh god,_ Harry thought, _he liked Peter._ Harry’s chest tightened. He _couldn’t._ He didn’t _want_ to. There was just… too much linked to that. Too much he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. Peter moved slightly and made a soft noise. Harry closed his eyes quickly so Peter wouldn’t see, and a moment later he feels Peter suddenly sit upwards quickly beside him. Harry opens his eyes slowly as if he’d just woken up. Peter is sat up, looking down at Harry.

“Uh,” Peter says awkwardly, “Hey. Sorry. Must’ve fallen asleep.”

“It’s… it’s fine,” Harry manages. Peter doesn’t move from where he sits, looking down at Harry.

Peter’s bedroom door opens, and May comes walking into the room.

“Peter, Harry, time for–” she looks from Peter’s empty bed to Harry and Peter in the bunk above. She raises an eyebrow at the pair.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Peter says.

“What _does_ it look like?” May asks, fighting a smile in the corner of her lips. Harry knew _exactly_ what it looked like, and he tried not to notice his heart sinking as Peter stumbled at the suggestion of it. _Would it really be so awful?_ Harry thought. He swallowed. _Of course it would._ _Peter’s straight._

Peter makes his way down the ladder, May still with an amused look on her face.

“Anyway,” May says as Peter’s feet touch the ground, “it’s time for breakfast.”

Harry doesn’t move.

“You coming, Har?” Peter says. Harry sighs.

“In a minute.” Harry lays in the bunk, trying to comprehend his thoughts from the night before. Peter had been _so_ understanding. He didn’t know how he could be, and yet… he _was._ He was just so completely _good._ How was that even _possible?_

Harry’s father had never been nearly as understanding. It was a hard time, a hard life, under Norman Osborn’s roof. _Poor little rich boy._ _Norman Osborn’s son, the fuck-up._

That’s what he’d been referred to in San Francisco, by the kids that didn’t know him – that being _most_ of them. _He thinks he’s better than us because he’s got money._ Harry had wanted to scream _Believe me, you’re happier than I am._ But he’d never found the voice. Never found the point. That’s what he was, Norman Osborn’s son. He wasn’t particularly smart or talented; he wasn’t a genius like Peter or kind like Ned or funny like MJ. He wasn’t charismatic like Jason or cute like Betty. He was Norman Osborn’s son. _That_ was his thing. And that was all he’d have.

Harry rolled over. He supposed Peter and May would be expecting him still. He lazily climbed down the ladder and entered the hallway. He heard May’s voice.

 _“So, Harry’s pretty cute, isn’t he?”_ Harry could swear he could hear a hint of a smile in her voice. Harry’s stomach did a flip. May and Peter were talking about him?

 _“What?”_ Peter said as an exclamation. He sounded like he was choking.

Harry heard May laugh slightly. _“Oh, please I’ve raised you from the age of six. Almost two-thirds of your life. I know you. Even if you think I don’t.”_

Harry’s heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. _Did Peter…_

 _“Uhhh…”_ Peter paused for a moment, _“I don’t know, is he?”_ Harry swallowed. He can’t believe he dared get his hopes up. Of _course_ Peter wouldn’t like him. Not like that. The universe wasn’t that kind.

Harry pushed his anxieties to the side and entered the dining room.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“Captain Thompson,” Norman’s voice says through the phone line, “good morning.”

 _“I hope you didn’t call my precinct just for a chat,”_ the voice on the other end said, _“we’re rather busy–”_

“No, of course not,” Norman said, “I have… _information.”_

Captain Harrison Thompson had been working as the captain of the NYPD’s nineteenth precinct for almost twenty years. Norman knew him well.

Norman can hear a small creak as Captain Thompson sits back in his chair, _“what kind of information?”_

“Well, being myself, I can’t help but overhear that you and your team at the precinct have been looking for information on the crime boss known as Lucky Lobo and his syndicate,” Norman smirks slightly into the phone, “well, I happen to know how to reach them. Specifically, I know where they’ll be relocating to in, say… well a couple of hours.”

 _“And how do you know this?”_ Captain Thompson asks.

“Ask no questions and I shall tell no lies,” Norman replies cooly. Captain Thompson hesitates for a moment, and Norman waits for a response.

_“Tell me everything, Mister Osborn.”_

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“So, Harry’s pretty cute, isn’t he?” May said smugly at Peter as he took a bite from his toast. Harry hadn’t emerged from Peter’s room yet, and Peter kept darting his eyes to the hallway. Peter choked on his toast at May’s words.

_“What?”_

May laughed. “Oh, please. I’ve raised you from the age of six. Almost two-thirds of your life. I _know_ you. Even if you think I don’t.”

“Uhhh,” is all Peter could manage. He _supposed_ Harry was cute. Peter recalled when he first met Harry; he’d thought he was handsome, albeit a bit awkward-looking. Peter had been so caught up at the time, stressing and so desperately _not_ wanting to guide a new student, he hadn’t given the _handsome_ observation much thought. He supposed it was only _human_ to notice that. Peter noticed when _plenty_ of people were attractive. Liz Allan. Betty Brant. Cindy Moon. All of those _girls._ But also… Wesley Crusher from _Star Trek._ Randy Robertson from elementary school. _Thor,_ the Avenger.

But those were just natural human observations. Nothing more, nothing less. After all, they _were_ good-looking people. You’d have to be _blind_ to not see it. Harry included in that bunch.

“I don’t know, is he?” Peter said aloud to May. May raised an eyebrow but said nothing. A moment later, Harry stepped into the dining area. He looked mildly uncomfortable, but that’s just how Harry seemed to look these days. Harry didn’t look Peter in the eyes as he sat down. May looked between Harry and Peter; Peter lowers his gaze.

“We’ll talk about this later,” May says to Peter with a slight smile. Peter bites his lip. Harry dares a glance in Peter’s direction before looking down at the table.

“You want some toast, Harry?” May asks.

“No, I… I couldn’t –” Harry begins, to which Peter cuts him off.

“Come on, Har, you’re a guest.”

Harry swallows as he looks at Peter properly. A beat. Two. Harry smiles weakly.

“Uh… yeah, I’ll… I’ll have some toast,” Harry looks away.

May begins to rise from her chair, but Harry stops her. “I’ll get it myself. It’s never too late to learn uh… basic life skills.”

May lowers herself back down into the chair and Harry rises. May watches as Harry fumbles to the kitchen and begins searching for the bread. May turns back to Peter.

“So, _Har,_ huh?” May says in a lowered voice so Harry couldn’t hear.

“It’s just a nickname,” Peter says, “like… Ned is a nickname for Edward. MJ is a nickname for Michelle. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“This is a cute nickname though,” May retorts.

“Is it?” Peter says. The sound of something heavy hitting the ground echoed off of the floors and Peter snapped his head towards it. Harry looked up at Peter and May from where he stood by the freezer. He appeared as though he were a deer caught in headlights. “Sorry.”

Peter looked down by Harry’s feet and saw that he’d dropped a frozen loaf of bread. May got out of her chair and walked towards the kitchen. Harry bit his lip as he leaned down to pick up the bread and Peter thought he looked… adorable. Peter shook his head.

“Let me help,” May said, “don’t you ever do anything at home?”

“Not really, no,” Harry admitted, “uhhh the family maid – Madeline – does a lot of the work. If not her, then my father’s assistant.” Harry looked down. “Sorry, it’s kind of embarrassing–”

“Stop apologising, Harry,” May says.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The recording played through in its entirety, and Tony couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Security camera footage from _Oscorp’s_ archives, dated the twenty-fifth of March. Norman Osborn enters a circular lab, full of ten scientists. An Asian woman donned in scientific gear steps towards Norman. Her voice shakes slightly. _“Mister Osborn, are you sure you want this? We can’t allow–”_

Norman cuts over her, his voice harsh even through the speakers of Tony’s computer. _“You are not the ones making the rules. Today we change history. Today I shall become the most powerful man in the world.”_

Tony swallows as he watches. The video is from a high angle and in greyscale, but even still he can distinctly make out the faces.

 _“But sir–”_ the woman begins.

Norman shouts. _“Silence!_ _Tony Stark has been praised for his innovativeness in his creation of the Iron Man,”_ Tony frowns at the mention of his name, of his suit, _“but today is when that ends. I seek to become more powerful without the use of a suit.”_

Norman approaches a cylindrical tank. Despite the colour of the footage, Tony can tell there’s a bright liquid inside it. A man moves to Norman’s side. This man is blond-haired and broad-shouldered. He looks as though he belonged on a football field. _“We developed it, from Abraham Erskine’s original formula. Just as you asked.”_

 _Super soldier serum._ Tony realises. _Oh no._

 _“Excellent,”_ Norman says in the video. His blazer drops from his shoulders to the floor before he begins unbuttoning his shirt. The shirt drops to the floor. Two scientists prepare the serum to be injected, and Norman forces it from them.

_“Sir, you should really take some proper precautio–”_

However, before he can finish, he plunges the needle into his skin. Tony can hardly make out what exactly is happening. Norman’s jaw tenses and soon the needle falls from his hands. A second later, Norman falls to the ground.

Several scientists step towards him, one being the first woman. She places her hand on his back. _“Mister Osborn?”_

She taps his shoulder slightly to wake him. In a sudden motion, his arm shoots out and wraps around her neck. The sheer brute strength causes her to struggle. No one moves or speaks, too shocked to do so. A moment later, she hangs limp in his hands. She falls to the ground.

 _“Monster…”_ a scientist says.  
Norman leers towards the remaining nine. _“Goblin.”_

He says it like a hiss as he lunges forward. His hands tear at skin and necks, grabbing every scientist one by one. Screams echo off the lab as people struggle against the door. Another dead. Another. Another. Norman turns swiftly on his heels and lunges towards the camera. Nothing but static.

Tony sits back in his seat, his thoughts running at a mile a minute. _Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin._ Tony thought of Peter; Peter, who has been in the _presence_ of this man on a regular basis. Peter who had been to Norman’s house on a regular occasion, not just as Peter, but as Spider-Man too. Peter who was friends with Norman’s son. The Green Goblin’s son.

 _“–my son seems awfully enamoured with Mister Parker,”_ Norman had said, _“As to whether it is… mutual has been a… growing concern of mine.”_

Tony had heard Peter talk about Harry. He’d talked about him frequently, in fact. When Peter had been here yesterday, he’d mentioned Harry quite happily. Casually in conversation, never missing a beat to mention Harry in some way if it related. _“Harry said…”_ or _“I was hanging out with Harry...”_ or even _“Spider-Man visited Harry…”_ dominating a lot of their conversation. Tony hadn’t thought much of it, but now he _did._ Peter hadn’t spoken about anyone nearly as much as he spoke about Harry. Not even Ned, his best friend. _Hell,_ Tony thought, _he hadn’t even so much as mentioned Liz._ Tony hadn’t considered if Norman’s statements held any truth to them, and now Tony was beginning to wonder if perhaps the man had made a correct assessment. Of course, it didn’t _matter._ Tony himself, prior to Pepper, had had relationships with men before; it wasn’t anything that phased him whatsoever.

 _Oh,_ Tony thought, if Peter liked Harry, _genuinely_ liked Harry, then Peter had a crush on the _Green Goblin’s son._

There was something oddly ironic about it. Tony’s biggest competitor being Peter’s greatest threat, and above all, Harry’s father. Tony sympathised with the kid. He’d never met Harry – could hardly describe what he even looked like if he’d been asked to – but he felt the need to protect him. Tony might not know what it’s like to have a villain for a father, but he knew what it was like to be a narcissist’s kid. _Poor little rich boy._

Tony had to tell Peter. He’d _have_ to tell Peter. Tell Peter the truth about Norman Osborn. Tell him that it was worse than he’d ever thought. Whether Peter would tell Harry or not, that was a whole other thing, but Tony just knew that he was tired of keeping information from Peter. He supposed it was time to treat Peter like who he was – a young man.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harrison Thompson sat in the passenger seat of the police car. Norman Osborn had told him where Lucky Lobo was, valuable information. Harrison had known Norman Osborn for a long time, even prior to the billionaire’s relocation to San Francisco. Norman had always helped him in exchange to allow Norman to work undetected despite the law. Was it selfish and wrong? Harrison didn’t think so. It allowed his family a good life, a rich life. His son could attend one of the best science schools in the state and afford the tuition. Fancy cars, suits, you name it. Harrison could supply for his family all thanks to Norman Osborn.

The sirens of the police car blared. Lieutenant Stacy was at the wheel. Harrison and his lieutenant, George Stacy, could not look more different from one another. Harrison was a short, pudgy latino man, with a beard that covered a good portion of his lower face. He looked like a short Hispanic Santa Claus. Whereas George was tall, pale and muscled, with salt-and-pepper hair. Harrison had once heard the desk girl compare him to George Clooney.

The car powered down the street, pulling up outside the old abandoned building. Harrison recognised it; it looked rather different to how it had in its heyday. The sign had been removed from the front and the windows had been blacked out. The brickwork was peeling away. This had been the old headquarters for _Oscorp Industries_ back in the nineties.

Harrison stepped out of the car and drew out his gun, keeping it by his side as he crept up to the entrance. Slowly. Lieutenant Stacy slowly followed him. A moment later, they burst into the building. Standing around were several men, all shocked at being disrupted. One of the men withdrew his gun and Harrison instantly shot in the shoulder. Lieutenant Stacy lowered his gun and turned to Harrison.

“What are you doing?” George exclaimed.

“My job,” Harrison said simply.

“This isn’t the job!” George said back. Harrison ignores him and surges forward.

“Boss!” one of the men call to the back, “Coppers–”

A moment later, a broad-shouldered man steps out from behind a crate. He’s dressed up in a tailored suit. Harrison aims his gun at him.

“You’ve lost, Lobo,” Harrison says, “you’re cornered.”

“Osborn,” is all Lobo says in stark realisation, “he–”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Harrison deadpans. Lobo quietens and raises his hands in surrender.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter sat beside Harry on the sofa in Peter’s living room. May had left an hour earlier to work, leaving the two totally alone. The atmosphere between them felt like it had completely shifted. In Harry’s case, he was struggling with the fact that he _liked_ Peter. Of all the people to like, it _had_ to be Peter Parker. His friend. One of his _only_ friends. On top of that, Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Spider-Man. He’d pushed the thought aside before, with everything that had happened lately, but now he had a spare moment he couldn’t help but let his mind slip back into thinking about it. Spider-Man was someone who he knew – or had at least _met –_ and he hadn’t even realised it. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to ask Peter if he knew who Spider-Man was, but he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know. What if Spider-Man turned out to be someone like Flash Thompson? Harry didn’t want to think about it.

In Peter’s case, he was coming to the crippling realisation that he couldn’t just push what May had said aside. May _knew,_ or suspected… something. Peter pushed his feelings down; that’s what he was used to. His feelings weren’t important. There were fifty thousand other things he had to worry about aside from teen angst and self-discovery.

They were watching a rerun of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, an early episode. Peter wished he could be more like someone like Holt. He knew who he was and was completely unapologetic about it. He liked men _and_ was well-liked _and_ supported _and_ badass. Peter buried this thought.

The episode went to an advertisement break. Harry turned to Peter.

“Do you know who Spider-Man is?” Harry asked.

Peter looked up, surprised. “Why?”

“Well, you and Spider-Man are friends, aren’t you?” Harry said, as though it were obvious. Peter had to resist the urge to let his façade crack.

“Uhh,” Peter bit his lip. _How much should he tell him?_ “You and I are friends. Spider-Man and I are something else.”

“Oh,” Harry said. Harry felt his face grow slightly hot. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“What?” Peter’s voice raised an octave. _Really? Harry thought he was dating… himself?_ Peter wondered how it was possible he could like someone so ridiculously oblivious. Not that he liked him.

“Well, I mean… he does things for you. Like, check up on me even though he doesn’t know me,” Harry sighed. _Except,_ Harry thought, _Spider-Man had specifically said he’d met Harry before. And Harry would recall meeting a boyfriend of Peter’s._

“We’re not – no. He’s not my boyfriend.”

Harry tried not to notice the fact that Peter hadn’t said _“No, I’m not gay,”_ instead choosing, _“he’s not my boyfriend.”_ It’s such a little thing, minor choice phrasing that probably didn’t mean anything... but Harry couldn’t help let his heart inflate a little.

“Oh. Well. _Do_ you know who he is?” Harry asks.

“No,” Peter says, desperately trying to keep his voice level. “Why do you want to know?”

 _Stupid question,_ Peter thought to himself, _it’s because Spider-Man told him he knew him._

_Bold to assume we haven’t met before._

Harry looks away. “It’s… it doesn’t matter.”

The advertisements switch to a news segment. A male reporter stood with notes. He had light brown skin and a dazzling smile.

 _“The infamous gang run by notorious leader Francisco ‘Lucky’ Lobo has been arrested by Captain Harrison Thompson and Lieutenant George Stacy after an anonymous tip from a mysterious individual. For the second time in the last few months, the gang has been found tangling with_ Oscorp Industries, _after being caught on the premises of the old_ Oscorp _headquarters. A member of the gang, Aleksei Systsevich, was arrested for attempted robbery of the newly established_ Oscorp _over a month ago—”_

Harry shook his head. “You know, I’m _sick_ of hearing about _Oscorp._ I bet Tony Stark doesn’t have these problems.”

Peter wondered if the Green Goblin and this arrest were related. _A mysterious individual._ Could that potentially be the Goblin? It was the _Goblin_ that had lead to the capture of Aleksei Systevich earlier in the year. Could he potentially be out to get members of Lucky Lobo’s gang?

“Peter?” Harry asked, snapping Peter out of his thoughts, “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah,” Peter says absent-mindedly, “I just… gotta go.”

“What?” Harry asked, “But—”

“I’m sorry,” Peter says, “I’ll be right back — don’t go anywhere.”

Peter gets up and rushes through the kitchen and out the door. Harry watches as he leaves and flops on the couch.

_Wasn’t planning on it._

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Spider-Man sat on a ledge overlooking the skyscrapers of New York City. It amazed him how in a few short months the city looked different to him. He couldn’t describe the difference, but he could feel it. The air felt tenser. Spider-Man could spot _Oscorp_ Tower in the distance.

 _What is so important about Oscorp?_ Spider-Man wondered. Was it just a coincidence that Lucky Lobo’s gang had been caught for the second time due to involvement with _Oscorp?_ Perhaps. But if the last year had taught him anything, coincidences are just the universe’s way of telling you something. There was something much more sinister afoot. Something Spider-Man couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Spider-Man looked down at the street below. There were mostly business workers walking the streets, in their fancy suits with fancy ties. Among the crowd Spider-Man noticed Norman Osborn. Norman looked behind him, as if checking if someone was following him, before turning down an alley. Spider-Man crawled across the roof of the building, looking down at the man. He frowned. _What was Osborn doing?_

Norman slipped into the shadows, and Spider-Man tossed a web at the adjacent wall from where he stood on the rooftop, and allowed himself to be let down to the ground.

 _“Peter, what are you doing?”_ Karen asked him.

“I need to figure out what Norman Osborn is up to.”

Spider-Man creeps along the ground, following Norman. Norman turns for a moment and Spider-Man jumps, quickly but silently, to the ceiling. He hangs there for a moment, making triple sure that Norman won’t see him, before crawling along the ceiling upside down. Spider-Man feels like his blood pressure is running at a mile a minute.

 _“Why do you need to know what Norman Osborn is up to?”_ Karen asks.

“Well, I… I just wanna know,” Spider-Man says this in a hushed tone. The truth is, some personal feelings were in the matter. This is the man that mistreated Harry. This man needed to pay for that.

Norman slipped into a building, and Spider-Man hopped down from the roof to follow him inside. Spider-Man looked around the area. It seemed to be a secret laboratory. It was lit with green and had cables coming from the ceiling. It seemed as though Norman had designed it himself.

“Karen, where are we?”

_“Oscorp Storage Facility. It was abandoned almost sixteen years ago.”_

Spider-Man saw a crate off to his right and quickly climbed up it. It gave him extra height and enabled him to see the laboratory more clearly without Norman seeing him. From this angle, Spider-Man could see almost everything. Norman stands at a desk covered in equipment. At that moment, his phone rang.

Norman flinched, looking up towards the crates to try to see who was there. He scowled, menacing. Spider-Man quickly answered his phone and put it to his ear. In hushed tones he said, “What is it?”

 _“Peter,”_ Tony’s voice said through the speaker, _“It’s important, you need to know–”_

“Who’s there?” Norman called towards where Spider-Man sat. Spider-Man hid himself by pressing his body closer into the crate. “I’m kind of busy right now,” Spider-Man whispers into the speakers.

 _“Peter, listen to me,”_ Tony says in a serious tone, _“Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin.”_

“What?” Spider-Man says. His mechanical eyes widen. _No._ There was no way.

_“I hacked into his archives. He’s the Green Goblin. Where are you?”_

“I uh... “ Spider-Man focuses his eyes on Norman, trying to keep him from spotting him, “Might’ve kinda sorta found his super secret evil lair.”

 _“What? Peter!”_ Tony says, _“Get out of there.”_

“I can’t–”

“Reveal yourself!” Norman exclaims. His voice echoes around the facility. Spider-Man hangs up on Tony and places his phone back in his pocket. He jumps down from the crate and plants his feet firmly on the ground.

“Okay, you caught me,” Spider-Man said in mock surrender. He raises his hands above his head like he’s under arrest. However, beneath it all, he’s terrified. Not only is this the man that hurt his friend, but he’s _also_ the man that killed several board members. _Oscorp_ board members.

“Spider-Man.” Norman’s jaw clenched as he spoke. Spider-Man noticed he tended to do that a lot. Somehow, Norman seemed more foreboding than he’d ever been. If Norman Osborn speaking to Peter Parker was terrifying, then this was a horror film.

“Green Goblin,” Spider-Man said. Norman’s eyes narrowed. Spider-Man stepped closer to Norman. His short five-eight self was nothing compared to Norman’s six-two. Norman stepped closer to Spider-Man in return.

“So you’ve figured it out. You’re intelligent, then. I wouldn’t have thought someone who was a _lap dog_ to Tony Stark would be intelligent. I guess we’re both surprised in that respect.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Spider-Man accused. Norman chuckled slightly, “You don’t know me or my life.”

“I know you’re a terrible businessman and terrible father,” Spider-Man’s voice darkens. It deepens as he speaks. Truly, Norman showed no remorse.

Norman looked surprised at this addition. “A terrible father? And what would _you_ know?”

“I know that you belittle Harry. You treat him like garbage. I know that he doesn’t even want to see you anymore. That he’d rather stay anywhere else than with you.”

“And how would you know that?” Norman says with a slight upturn in his voice. Spider-Man says nothing. He can’t think of a response that would be remotely convincing. The gears in Norman’s head turn and he looks Spider-Man up and down.

 _“Peter Parker.”_  It’s a proclamation. It’s almost as though Norman is daring Spider-Man to challenge it. Spider-Man doesn’t retort, he doesn’t argue, he doesn’t try to convince Norman otherwise, he instead webs around Norman’s middle and pulls him towards himself. Spider-Man does a front flip over Norman as he’s sent hurtling towards him.

“Newton’s first law of motion. Objects in motion tend to stay in motion unless—” Norman goes hurtling into one of the crates, “–acted upon by an external force.”

Norman is unshaken by this, simply standing up as though nothing had happened at all.

“Oh, come on, Peter,” Norman says, “you don’t want to do this. You could be _brilliant_ if you stopped acting pet to Tony Stark. Work for me. You have more potential than Stark would ever let you know.”

“I dont _want_ to work with you, you psychopath!” Spider-Man throws a punch at Norman, which he instantly dodges.

“Peter, you need to learn that your brilliance is being hindered by the people around you.”

“You mean like your son?” Spider-Man says aggressively. He lands a punch on Norman’s jaw. Norman straightens his neck out. He moves his hand to his desk and wraps his hand around a pumpkin bomb.

“Harry is weak. He never had the brains to know what was good for him. Why else would he–”

“He’s _sixteen!”_ Spider-Man lands a kick.

“And you are fifteen. And yet… here we are.” Norman stills remains perfectly unfazed, getting up again every single time. “Have you ever wondered about your parents Peter? Why they left?”

“They died,” Spider-Man says. What would _Norman Osborn_ know about his parents?

“Your dear pal Tony Stark knows all about your parents. In fact, his father _worked_ with them–”

“What are you saying?” Spider-Man stands back away from Norman.

“I think you know.”

Before Spider-Man can respond, Norman throws a pumpkin bomb between them. It flashes for a moment, beeping, and then–

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

The bomb detonates. Spider-Man jumps back from it as his spider-sense goes off. His back hits the wall from the force and he slides down the wall, conscious, but very much hurting. The smoke clears, and Norman Osborn is gone.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

**END OF ACT TWO**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's the end of act two! only one more act to go. please leave comments and kudos x


	28. A New CEO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know what’s on all of your minds,” Harry starts. He can see the video cameras rolling and a photographer snaps a picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to act three people

**ACT THREE:**

**_“The City That Never Sleeps”_ **

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Harry’s hands traced over the glass-topped desk, brushing his hands along the belongings on the table. It was just as his father had it the day they’d fought. The day before he’d disappeared. Everything on the desk was neat; there wasn’t any indication that he’d planned to leave, but there also was no sign of a struggle. Yet, Norman Osborn was gone, and Harry was the only thing left.

Harry hated the way the suit sat on his body. The cuffs felt awkward around his wrists and the shoulders felt too broad. The tie around his neck was far too tight for comfort. He felt as though he was wearing his father’s skin over his own. He swallowed. It was amazing how things could change so much in the space of less than a month.

There was a tap on the door. The person on the other side does not wait for Harry’s response before entering.

“Mister Osborn,” It’s Donald Menken, Norman’s assistant. Except, not _really,_ not anymore. Harry had to keep reminding himself of that. “It’s time.”

Harry exhales. He’d been dreading this from the moment he’d been told about it.

 _You do know what these means, don’t you?_ Donald had told him the week after Norman’s disappearance, _your father had very clear instructions._

Harry stood up straight and followed Menken out the door. The atmosphere at _Oscorp_ had shifted significantly. It felt quieter and far darker. The energy seemed to have been sucked out of the place. Harry wasn’t sure how Norman’s absence could have such an effect on _anything._ Harry’s experience with Norman had only ever been the opposite.

The two, boy and man, stepped into the elevator. Harry looked to his right and watched Donald’s posture. He had two hands folded behind his back and his chin held high. Harry looked ahead and tried to copy this. Anything in an attempt to look more mature, in the hopes he could actually have this thing end early and he could go home and sleep forever.

The lift doors open and Donald leads the way out of it. He guides Harry down a hallway and then into an open space. There are desks, much like the one in Norman’s – no, _Harry’s –_ office in various places around the room. There are no people around. Donald guides Harry between the desks down another corridor, and then into a small room.

“You know what to say?” Donald says. Harry bites his lip and nods. Harry wonders if Peter will be watching.

Donald gives a slight solemn nod and opens a large door. Harry steps through it and cameras flash all around him from within the room. People are speaking animatedly, some in hushed tones, some loud enough for Harry to hear. All here to listen to Harry speak. Harry walks up to the podium. He feels his heartbeat quicken. His chest hurts. It’s as though his lungs have been inflated. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he speaks into the microphone.

“I know what’s on all of your minds,” Harry starts. He can see the video cameras rolling and a photographer snaps a picture, _“‘Sixteen-year-old kid, two hundred billion dollar company… what was Dad thinking?’”_ Harry pauses. A camera flashes.

“Well, I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t know. But what I do know is that I care about people. This city. I’ve only been here for a few months but I can honestly say that this place feels like home. I hope that _Oscorp,_ under my leadership, will be considered one of the greats. I hope that I can restore trust in the Osborn name, a name which my father has left behind a legacy of incompetence and coldness,” Harry looks down at his shoes and looks back up again. He grips the sides of the podium with his hands, “We will bring warmth and compassion into everything we do. Because you all deserve that. You all deserve respect. All I ask for is acceptance.”

The crowd applaud his speech and Harry exhales. He wasn’t sure how much of what he said he truly believed. He just knew he was tired. Donald Menken steps up to the podium and speaks into the microphone. “Do any of you have any questions for Mister Osborn.”

 _Oh no,_ Harry thought, _here we go._

A woman raises her hand and Donald calls on her. She looks to be about thirty.

“Do you worry that your inexperience will hold the company down?”

“I…” Harry bites his lip, “I will do my very best. I have good people surrounding me that shall be available to assist if necessary.”

Harry hated the way the words felt on his lips. They sounded like they belonged to his father.

 

...

「◆」

...

 

The conference ended and journalists filtered out of the room. Harry just wanted to lay down. He didn’t _want_ this. He’d specifically told his father that he didn’t want to take over and yet… here he was. Just over two weeks later. Taking over.

The camera crew cleared their equipment and exited the room, leaving Harry alone with Donald.

“You did well,” Donald commented, “Your father would be proud.”

“I honestly don’t give a fuck,” Harry states. Donald narrows his eyes slightly but says nothing. A man steps into the room. He’s tall and slim, with grey hair.

“Mister Osborn, you have a guest,” the man says. He sounds bored as he says it.

“A guest?” Harry asks. The man steps aside and from behind him stands all five-foot-eight of Peter Parker. He’s wearing a zipped up cream-coloured jacket over a light blue turtleneck. His hands are stuffed into his jean pockets and he has a smile on his face. Harry can’t help but let a smile rise to his face too, despite trying to fight it. Peter steps towards him and Harry does the same.

“Hey, Har,” Peter says, “nice speech.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry replies incredulously.

“You told me to watch.”

“From _home.”_

The two boys look at each other for a moment, neither one of them saying anything. It had only been a few weeks since they had last seen each other, but those weeks had felt long. _It was amazingly strange,_ Harry thought, _that he had gone his entire life without Peter and yet he doesn’t think he could do it again._ Harry wondered if the feeling was mutual. Harry’s heart sunk again as he dared the thought. Harry liked Peter – he couldn’t ignore that – but he couldn’t wish for Peter to like him in the same way. This, friendship, Peter being here despite not having to be, _that_ was enough.

Peter broke the eye contact first. He looked down at the ground awkwardly and laughed slightly.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asked. A smile reached the corners of his lips. Peter’s smile was infectious. Peter scoffed.

“I just missed you, that’s all,” Peter says. Harry looks Peter up and down. He looked different, but Harry couldn’t place how. He looked stronger. How could two weeks change so much about a person?

Harry’s train of thought is cut off when Peter pulls Harry into a hug. Despite Peter’s short height compared to Harry’s, he still attempts to hug Harry from above the shoulders. Harry is surprised for a moment, unsure of what to do. He’d had Peter lean on his shoulder, slept in the same bed as him, and yet a simple hug was going to be the thing that killed him. He hesitated for a moment before he wrapped his arms around Peter’s waist, careful not to cross a line.

They broke apart awkwardly. Harry’s face felt hot. He hoped that it didn’t show. Behind him, Donald coughed. Harry turned to face him.

“Donald, this is my friend. Peter Parker.”

Peter seemed suddenly aware that they weren’t alone. Peter held out his hand to Donald, ever respectful. “Hello, uh, Mister—”

“Menken,” Donald supplied. His lip curled slightly. “I’m very aware of who Peter is, Mister Osborn. Both you and your father mention him frequently enough. I just wasn’t aware you two were quite so… close.”

Harry shuffled awkwardly, building a bit of distance between them. _Did Donald know? Or suspect?_ Harry played it off nonchalant. “We’re friends. Aren’t you close to your friends?”

Peter looked between Donald and Harry. Peter was no stranger to what Peter liked to dub as Harry’s _Osborn Mode._ A stare that could probably move planets if he only willed it. Harry’s voice went slightly deeper, whether subconsciously or not, it was hard to tell.

“It was merely an observation, Mister Osborn. No need to get defensive,” Donald speaks calmly.

“Who’s getting defensive?” Harry says, “I just want to speak to my friend.” Harry turns to the man who had brought Peter in. “You can go.”

He then turns back to Donald. “You can, too.”

Donald hesitates for a moment, then two. He looks between Peter and Harry before leaving.

Harry lets out a breath. It’s almost as though Peter is watching the Osborn illusion shatter before his eyes to reveal just Harry. _Just Harry,_ Peter thinks, _as if Harry isn’t enough._

“C’mon,” Harry says, “let me show you around.”

 

...

「◆」

...

 

Peter had only seen _Oscorp_ from the outside, with the exception of the ninety-third floor the night the Goblin — _Norman_ — had attacked it. Peter felt guilty thinking about that part. Harry didn’t know that Norman was the Goblin; Peter hadn’t gotten to telling him that part. He couldn’t find the words. When he’d gotten home, after fighting Norman and the latter disappeared, Harry had looked so concerned. Peter had fumbled into his apartment where Harry still sat on the couch watching reruns of _Brooklyn Nine Nine._

 _Where did you go?_ Harry asked. Peter shook his head. _It’s fine. Just had to help May with something._

 _Oh,_ Harry said. _What happened to your face?_

The next morning, Harry had gotten the call. The call that his father was missing, and that he had to come home as soon as possible.

Peter looked around as Harry guided him around the hallways. They felt uncomfortably bare. Harry opened a large door and let Peter step inside first, before Harry followed him inside. It was a large office, with one of the walls being mostly glass. The desk was also glass. There were dark wood cabinets off to the side. Above it was a large photograph. In it, Peter could recognise Norman, about ten years younger. He looked stern as ever. Emily Osborn was beside him, with a six-year-old Harry in her lap. Peter wondered what could make Norman go Goblin. What kind of person could leave their family behind like that?

_Your dear pal Tony Stark knows all about your parents. In fact, his father worked with them._

Peter shook that away. May had told him his parents had died in a plane crash. He believed her, far more than he believed Norman Osborn.

“Welcome to my office,” Harry said. Peter watched as Harry shrugged his suit jacket off his shoulders and tossed it aside onto his desk chair. Underneath, he had a thin buttoned-up shirt tucked into his pants.. It hugged his body. Harry loosened the tie around his neck and discarded that also, before rolling up his sleeves. Peter bit his lip and looked away.

Harry approached the cabinet and opened up one of the doors. He pulled out two glasses.

“You want a drink?”

“What of?”

“I only have soft drink,” Harry said. Harry shuffled around in the cabinet and pulled out a bottle. “Creaming soda?”

“It’s almost like you know me,” Peter says. It was _nice,_ the way Harry remembered the little things. Harry poured it into the two glasses and handed one to Peter. He closed the cabinet door and leaned against it, arching his back. His shirt was slightly ruffled. Peter had to try really hard not to notice how good he looked. Peter kept his eyes on Harry’s face, trying not to avert his focus.

“How’ve you been?” Harry asks. Even while leaning against the cabinet, he’s still taller than Peter by an inch or two.

“Um, I’m good. May’s been a bit stressed but she always seems to be that way lately.”

Harry nods. “Yeah. Yeah I noticed that. Is she okay?”

“I don’t know; she won’t tell me anything.”

The two look at each other in silence for a moment. Harry looks simultaneously out-of-place while also like that’s where he should be. He looks uncomfortable. Peter knew Harry didn’t want to be CEO, never did. “Har?”

Harry looks up, waiting for Peter to continue.

“Are you… are you doing this because you want to, or because you think you should?”

“I…” Harry begins, “well, I… I mean… my father’s gone. I don’t know where. It’s my responsibility to I don’t know… continue his legacy? Fix his legacy? I’m playing it by ear.”

 _Responsibility._ Peter understood that much. The idea that sometimes the thing you want to do is in direct conflict with what you _should_ do, and most importantly accepting that fact.

“Have you seen Spider-Man since…?” Peter asks, knowing full well that Harry hadn’t. Peter was frankly too scared. The last time Spider-Man had visited Harry, he’d basically almost exposed himself.

_Bold of you to assume we haven’t met before._

God, Peter was dumb.

“No. You know, I told him I would be able to spot him anywhere, regardless of if he was in costume or not, and he said that… well… he said it was bold of me to assume we haven’t met before.”

“Oh.” It was a very specific experience for Peter, where people would talk about Spider-Man in front of him not realising who he was, but this was a different feeling entirely. Knowing things because of your other identity, things you shouldn’t know normally… it felt invasive. It felt like he was let in on a secret he wasn’t supposed to know. Harry having a crush on someone was one of those things.

“Yeah.” Peter could tell Harry was holding back, and not just because he _knew_ he was holding back. Harry looked down at his feet.

“You know I haven’t smoked in almost three weeks?” Harry says, changing the topic.

“That’s good!” Peter says with encouragement. Peter didn’t like to talk down to Harry about his smoking habits, but really he privately wished he would stop.

“I guess. I mean, it’s the longest I’ve gone in two years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I ran out three weeks ago and haven’t been able to replace them. I can’t buy them myself. So uhh… I just haven’t smoked.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Honestly? Yes. I mean I wish I didn’t but… yes. I… well I crave it. It’s like I can taste it still and smell it in the air. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I googled it and it _should_ feel better after a while, but…”

“But you still miss it.”

“At least my mom would be proud of me. Always told me to quit before I killed myself,” he paused. “Ironic.”

Harry had a dark sense of humour; Peter knew that. But over the last few weeks, that seemed to have dipped into straight up cynicism.

"I got a meeting," Peter said, "with the  _Bugle."_

"The photography job, right?"

"Yeah, Betty set it up."

"Oh."  _Betty._ Harry had forgotten all about Betty. He supposed Peter and Betty were... "Are you two?"

"I don't know," Peter says quickly, "it's complicated."

Peter’s phone rang. His ringtone was _Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head._ Harry had noticed that Peter was odd like that, with an odd taste in music. Harry had gone through his _Spotify_ account once and had seen that it was mostly Aretha Franklin and Nat King Cole. He seemed relatively in his own world, not one hundred percent present half the time. It just made Harry like him more.

Peter picked up the phone and put it to his ear. “Hey May.”

_“Where are you?”_

“I’m just hanging out with Har.”

Silence. _“Ned’s here.”_

“Oh, shit. I forgot.”

_“Language. Should I tell him to go home or—?”_

“No, I’ll be there soon.”

Peter hangs up and Harry frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, I just forgot Ned was coming over today. We have a new assignment in chemistry.”

“Right,” Harry says simply. He feels slightly disappointed at Peter having to leave so soon.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter remembers, “I also was gonna ask you about school. Are you still going or…?”

“I want to,” Harry said, “whether or not they’ll _let_ me is a different question.”

“Well, uhh…” Peter says, “I hope you do.”

Harry’s stomach flutters. It’s such an inconsequential comment, but it meant so much. Harry was _wanted._

“I hope I do, too.” Harry smiles and Peter turns. Harry’s eyes follow him. He begins to exit but pauses at the doorway.

“Har?” Peter turns back one last time to look at him.

“Yeah?”

Peter sucks in his bottom lip awkwardly, considering if he dare say it. He swallows and smiles. “You look good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls leave your thoughts in the comments i promise that even if i don't reply to your comment i read each and every one of them


	29. Favourite People In The World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you going to visit him again?”
> 
> “Well, he’s my friend, so–”
> 
> “I meant as Spider-Man,” Ned said, “I know you want to.”

Harry watches out the window as the little dot that is Peter walking down the street disappears. Peter thought he looked good; he’d made a point about letting Harry know that. A spark of hope made its way to the forefront of Harry’s mind. Harry wishes he’d said it back. 

But Peter was seeing  _ Betty. _ He’d implied as much, or at least, it was  _ complicated. _ Harry tried not to do  _ complicated _ if he could avoid it. However, he’d started seeing himself make more and more excuses if that  _ complicated _ happened to involve Peter. Peter was the exception; not the rule. 

Harry tried to focus on what was important: Peter thought he looked good, and he wanted him back at school. If Harry could have his way, he’d be back at  _ Midtown _ in a heartbeat. He missed sitting with Ned, Peter, and MJ at lunch. He missed the classes he had slowly begun to fail. He missed the  _ normalcy. _ People don’t realise what they have until it’s gone. Normalcy is so often taken for granted. He felt like a performer that was performing all the time, the country’s eyes all on him.  _ Waiting _ for the young CEO to mess up. Watching him and wondering what Norman Osborn could’ve  _ possibly  _ thought to gain from putting Harry in charge. 

_ Satisfaction. _ Harry thought. Norman wanted the pleasure of knowing Harry was becoming everything he hated. Completing the cycle and loathing himself for it. Harry had only been instated for less than a week, but it was already too long. 

Harry looks to the picture of his family; his mother happy in the frame. He wonders if she would be proud of him. He wonders if she would like Peter. Would she be disgusted by Harry? Or would she be supportive? Would she have let all  _ this _ get this far? Harry tried to cling to tangible memories of his mother but he couldn’t help but allow them to be clouded by her last few months of life: terrified, pale, tired. She would hardly speak.

_ Harry,  _ Emily said to him as he’d entered her bedroom.  _ Her _ bedroom. His parents hadn’t even been sharing towards the end. She sat facing the window, watching the cars go by. San Francisco looked brighter than New York, yet the light never seemed to reach her face. She’d accumulated mugs and had piles of unfinished books beside the chair where she sat.  _ You should be at school,  _ she said.

_ I came to see you, Mom, _ Harry said. He extinguished his cigarette against the doorframe and tossed it into the nearest bin.

_ You see me every day,  _ Emily had said.  _ Is that smoke I smell? _

_ No, _ Harry said. He could never smell the smoke on himself,  _ you know I don’t smoke. _

_ Of course not, _ Emily deadpanned.

His mother didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead looking out the window. At the time, this was just something Harry was used to. He never thought…

Harry shook his head. Peter would’ve liked his mom, and she would’ve liked him. He’s sure of it; because he liked his mother, and he likes Peter. His two favourite people in the world. 

_ Favourite people in the world,  _ he thinks.  _ Huh. _

When he’d first met Peter, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how important he would be to him. How he couldn’t imagine him not being in his life. 

...

「◆」

...

Peter entered his bedroom and saw Ned seated on his bed, twiddling his thumbs. He looked up at Peter awkwardly as he entered.

“I’m  _ so _ sorry, I–”

“Where were you?” Ned asks. He doesn’t sound mad, rather he sounds exhausted. Peter sighs.

“I was with Harry. He had his speech today.” Peter looks down. He can’t explain  _ why _ he had to be there for Harry. Really, there was no reason for him to insist on going. Harry  _ had _ told him to stay home and watch the televised version, but Peter couldn’t just sit by as one of his best friends needed his support.

Ned’s eyebrows crease together. “Why didn’t you just watch it from home? Isn’t that what Harry told you to do?”

“I just… wanted to see him,” Peter says lamely. It’s not exactly a good response. Ned raises an eyebrow, like he knows something that Peter doesn’t. Between May and Ned, Peter felt like he was being excluded from an inside joke. 

“Right,” Ned says. “Are you going to visit him again?”

“Well, he’s my friend, so–”

“I meant as Spider-Man,” Ned said, “I know you want to.”

Peter looks away from Ned, not managing to hold eye contact for fear that Ned could see into his soul and know  _ exactly _ what was on Peter’s mind. “I… I don’t know. What if he figures it out?”

“Would that be so bad?” Ned asks, “If Harry were to know?”

“He’d just be disappointed,” Peter tries not to sound solemn as he says it, but it’s the truth. Harry  _ would _ be disappointed. Peter knows  _ he _ would be disappointed if he was in that position. 

“I wasn’t disappointed,” Ned reminds Peter.

Peter flops on his bed. “Yeah, well. You didn’t have any, like… expectations of what Spider-Man should be.”

“Of course I did!” Ned argues, as if Peter is being absolutely ridiculous.  _ “Everyone _ has expectations of what Spider-Man should be. Just because you turned out to be different doesn’t make you a let-down.”

“Sounds like a let down to me,” Peter affirms. He’s stubborn that way.

“No. You know, Spider-Man to me is a symbol of good. And no one’s more purely  _ good _ than you.” Ned sits beside Peter. Peter thinks this over for a moment. He doesn’t  _ feel _ good. He feels like a guy, a guy with big ears and weird hobbies. Who on chance got bitten by a radioactive spider and became a lie. Peter sighs. 

“You know what?” Ned says, “Screw chemistry. You wanna go see a movie? I think that movie with Emma Watson and Tom Hanks is out.”

“What’s it about?” Peter asks. 

Ned shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know. But I know it’s got a red circle on the poster. I’ll watch anything with Emma Watson in it to be honest.”

“Even if it’s terrible?” Peter says, the humour returning to his voice.

_ “Especially _ if it’s terrible.”

Peter goes quiet. Ned looks him up and down sympathetically.

“You wanna go see Harry?”

“Should I?” Peter bites his lip.

“I think it would be good for you.”

“I  _ just _ saw him.”

The gears in Ned’s head turn; he thinks he knows  _ why _ Peter is like this, but he doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries and say anything. Peter tended to spiral over every little thing – he didn’t need this too.

“Go see him,” Ned says, “I’ll still be here when you get back.”

Peter sits up. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Ned replies, “As I said... I know you want to.”

Peter tugged at his shirt from the back of his neck and pulled it over his head, revealing his suit underneath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapter today


	30. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Long time no see,” Harry comments.
> 
> “Sorry,” Spider-Man says, “I was just…”
> 
> “Worried I was going to figure out who you are,” Harry finishes his sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN A HOT MINUTE BUT HERE YOU GO

Spider-Man lingers on a rooftop, watching  _ Oscorp. _ It looked just as proud as ever. He felt his anxieties rising at the thought of visiting Harry as Spider-Man. Their last interaction had been when he’d let slip that he knew Harry  _ normally. _ Could he risk having Harry find out? Ned seemed to think that Harry should be let into the secret, but Peter wasn’t sure Harry was ready for that. Opening up his two worlds and letting them collide could end in rubble.

_ But they could also slot into place perfectly. _

He didn’t want to risk it. It would put his friendship with Harry at stake. And to Peter, those stakes were simply too high. 

He exhales. He misses not having a constant weight on his chest. Harry, Goblin, Betty, May,  _ school work. _ Peter just wanted a really long nap.

He wished he hadn’t bailed on Ned.

...

「◆」

...

Harry’s back is to the window as he sits in his father’s –  _ his _ – desk chair. The desk doesn’t feel like his. There were three colours of pen lined up beside each other to his right side, and a keypad to his left. A picture of his mother was in the corner, facing towards him. He hears a light tapping of glass behind him. Spider-Man is stuck to Harry’s office window. Harry’s surprised to say the least; he hadn’t seen Spider-Man in weeks and yet  _ today _ he shows up? Harry unlatches one of the frames and allows him to come in. 

“Long time no see,” Harry comments. 

“Sorry,” Spider-Man says, “I was just…”

“Worried I was going to figure out who you are,” Harry finishes his sentence.

Spider-Man swallows. He looks uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”

“Would it be so bad?” Harry asks, “If I were to know? Don’t you trust me or something?”

“No, I…” Spider-Man sighs. He doesn’t know how to explain to Harry why he’s like this. Why he doesn’t want Harry to know, “I don’t want you to be disappointed?”

“Why, are you an asshole or something?” Harry asks, “Oh my god, you’re not Flash Thompson, are you?” he deadpans. 

Spider-Man is reminded of Harry’s first day at  _ Midtown, _ when Harry had called Flash an asshole. Peter supposed in retrospect that from that moment onwards he was doomed to like Harry. Not  _ like _ like Harry. Peter shook his head. He  _ didn’t. _ “No! I’m not Flash Thompson.”

“If I were to guess correctly, would you tell me?” Harry asked. The question was harmless, but it left Peter’s head spinning at a mile a minute.  _ Would he? _ Spider-Man doesn’t answer. Harry sucks in his lower lip. “We could make it like, I don’t know, twenty-one questions. I get twenty-one questions to ask you and then I try to guess who you are. If I don’t, then I’ll leave it be.”

“There are exactly zero winners either way,” Spider-Man deadpans.

_ “Spider-Man,” _ Harry says, “please?”

“Fine,” Spider-Man says. He can’t say no to Harry. He wishes he could.

Harry looks surprised at this, but his face cracks into a wide smile, “Okay. So…” Harry thinks for a moment, trying to think of his first question. “Do you go to  _ Midtown?” _

Peter’s mind screams at him to say no. This is already dangerous territory and it’s only the first question. Against his better judgement, Spider-Man says, “Yes.”

Harry doesn’t like surprised. His brows knit together in consideration. 

“Does—” Harry begins, before Spider-Man cuts him off. 

“How about we only do one question a day?” Spider-Man says. He can’t risk Harry finding out now. He’s simply not ready for it. 

“Do you promise to actually show up?” Harry asks, unsure. His right eyebrow raises. Spider-Man swallows. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I will.”

“Well then, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Harry sucks in his lower lip and Peter wants to scream. He  _ can’t _ hold himself to this deal, it would be too risky. He’s  _ such an idiot, Peter, why – _

“Why do you visit me all the time?” Harry asks, suddenly. Spider-Man watches Harry for a moment, considering. His eyes focus in on Harry. Harry looks more worried than anything. Peter notices a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there when he’d visited him as himself. Peter wonders what it is about Peter Parker that keeps Harry Osborn at ease; something Spider-Man can’t provide. Is it humanity? Is that it? Peter didn’t understand his relationship with Peter across his dual identities. He’d tell Spider-Man his secrets, he’d vent to him about things, but he was softer with Peter. Happier, even. Yet, Spider-Man knew that Harry had a crush, and Peter did not.

It was all very confusing. Sometimes Peter hated being a teenager. He was sure being an adult superhero wasn’t nearly this complicated. 

“I visit you because you’re my friend,” Spider-Man says, “and I like talking to you.”

“Are we friends normally?” Harry asks. 

Spider-Man laughs softly. “One question a day.”

“Right,” Harry remembers. He bites his lip and looks down. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Spider-Man repeats.

...

「◆」

...

May Parker was an intelligent woman. She’d been to university, Empire State University to be exact. She’d graduated second in her class. She might not be a genius like Tony Stark, but she sure as hell wasn’t  _ dumb. _

Her mother had always told her,  _ where there’s a will, there’s a way. _ May had told her that made her sound like a greeting card. That said, May had always internalised it. She truly believed it. She thought she could overcome absolutely anything… and yet…

The bills laid out across the dining room table, calculator app open on her phone as she desperately tried to figure out how they could  _ make this work. _ She could ask Tony Stark – he’d offered Peter money before – but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. That would be  _ cheating, _ somehow. May sighed. She’d felt so disconnected lately. She’d zone out during conversations, even ones she was interested in. Her best friend Anna, who lived just in the apartment below, had told her to try therapy. May hadn’t gone to therapy, ever. Not even when Ben died. She’d mourned, she’d cried, she’d look through old photographs because  _ they always lasted, _ but she hadn’t  _ talked _ to anyone. 

May put her head in her hands.  _ Where there’s a will, there’s a way. _ She wished that was true; she’d had a will for the last month, as bills kept piling up and suddenly her income wasn’t enough. Perhaps she could pick up a second job,  _ anything _ to help…

She wouldn’t tell Peter. She couldn’t. That boy had the entire world on his shoulders and then some. He was a superhero (that was still odd for May to think about) as well as a teenage boy. There were so many things he wouldn’t tell her and only a handful of things she could guess. She could guess that he and Harry had something  _ there. _ She could  _ guess _ that the strange flying green guy had some connection to him. But there was so much more there. 

“May?” a voice says. May looks up and Ned is standing in the kitchen. Ned smiles awkwardly and sits at the other chair at the table. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, Ned,” she says, putting on her best  _ adult _ voice. 

“Are you sure?” Ned asks. May had always liked Ned. He and Peter had been inseparable since they were very young. She could still see the two little boys as they were ten years ago, playing in the mud trying to save worms from drowning with sticks. She supposed they were always heroes, in their own way. 

Ned looks at May sadly. He can tell she’s lying, but May doesn’t know how to fix that. She swallows.

“Don’t tell Peter,” she speaks in a bare whisper.

“I won’t, May,” Ned replies. He puts a hand on her shoulder and pats her on the back. 


	31. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oooooooo,” Cindy says in a sing-song voice, “Do you like someone, Peter?”
> 
> Flash scoffs and speaks in a baby voice, “What, Parker, you got a cwush?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay im back & officially on school break...
> 
> content warning for this chapter: homophobic jokes.

School felt different without Harry. It had been a month, and yet Peter still felt odd going to History class without him. He missed hearing the jokes Harry would mutter out of the corner of his mouth so only Peter could or would hear. He missed sitting across from him in the cafeteria while MJ read out the worst extracts from whatever novel she was reading that day. He missed their group. He missed Harry. 

He’d be seeing him in a few short hours; Peter would put on his Spider-Man costume and show up and wait for Harry to ask him questions while anxiety pumped through his veins. One of these days, Harry would realise who he was, and when that day came Peter didn’t know what he would do. 

His eyes glaze over as he sits in the auditorium on the stage. The mathletes all sit around in a circle; this is the only place where they can hang out for meetings. The library closes at the end of the day while meetings run for an hour after last period. 

“Peter!” MJ says, clicking her fingers in front of Peter’s face. Peter snaps out of his daydream. MJ raises an eyebrow.

“Bit distracted there, Penis Parker?” Flash says with the usual venom to his voice. Peter ignores him and directs his attention to Michelle. “Sorry, MJ. Just thinking.”

“Mhmm,” Michelle says. She offers a slight smile. “Of… someone?”

Peter chokes and Michelle laughs. 

“Oooooooo,” Cindy says in a sing-song voice, “Do you  _ like _ someone, Peter?”

Flash scoffs and speaks in a baby voice, “What, Parker, you got a cwush?” 

“No!” Peter’s voice raises an octave. He doesn’t have a  _ crush _ on Harry, no matter what anyone might think or  _ imply. _

“Methinks you doth protest too much,” Abe says. Peter puts his head in his hands. 

Sally laughs. “So, Peter, who’s the lucky girl?”

“Why do you say ‘lucky’?” Flash asks, snarkily, “In fact, why do you say ‘girl’?”

“Suck a dick, Flash,” MJ says. 

“I’m sure Parker would  _ love _ that–”

“Eugene!” MJ raised her voice suddenly. Everyone turned their heads abruptly to Michelle. Michelle was known for being snarky, but often quiet. She wouldn’t often speak anything more than a few sentences at a time, and usually at the same deadpan level. 

“You’re gonna cut the crap. It’s not funny, it’s just homophobic. Even if it’s in good fun. You’re contributing to a much larger problem with your ‘jokes’,” Michelle says sternly. There isn’t a hint of humour in her expression. 

“MJ, it doesn’t matter. I’m straight, and he’s dumb–” Peter begins. Michelle shakes her head. 

“It doesn’t matter if it’s directed at a straight person. It’s still harmful to gay people as a whole. So, word of advice, Flash. Shut the fuck up, or you’re off the team.”

There’s a moment of silence across the auditorium. Flash clenches his jaw as watches Michelle. MJ doesn’t back down. Flash rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Flash picks up his school bag and clings it over his schoolbag, before walking down the stairs down the aisle and out of the auditorium. Peter can’t help but feel his chest tighten.  _ I’m straight, _ he’d said. It felt wrong on his tongue, but he’d said it anyway out of habit. Even if the words didn’t fit in his mouth and they’d come out in a voice that wasn’t his. 

 

...

「◆」

...

 

“Does Peter know you go to Midtown?” Harry asks.

He’s leaning over the railing at the Osborn apartment’s balcony, looking over the city. Harry’s hair has grown over the last month; it flops over his face ever so slightly. A strand of his hair flows in the breeze ever so slightly. Spider-Man tries not to notice it.

“Uh,” Spider-Man says. He swallows. “...no.”

“Oh,” Harry says. He bites his lip and tilts his head forward. The light from the setting sun creates in halo above his hair. Peter within the suit knows this question game is a dangerous one, but he couldn’t help but engage with it. Even though he should be doing  _ anything else. _ Really, he should be using his time as Spider-Man to look for Norman Osborn...

_ Norman Osborn, _ who had disappeared a month ago without a trace. No hide nor hair of the Goblin had even been heard. That left Harry in potential danger – Peter couldn’t be sure that Norman wouldn’t come back for his son, or even use him in some way. Maybe that was just his anxieties speaking. Maybe Norman Osborn was gone forever. 

He’d have to speak to Tony about it.

“So, uh,” Spider-Man begins.

Harry raises a finger to indicate for Spider-Man to wait for a moment. Harry disappears back into his apartment and then a moment later emerges with a cigarette packet. He tamps the packet and withdraws a cigarette. Spider-Man frowns. “I thought you’d given it up.”

“It’s harder than it looks,” Harry says. He places the cigarette between his lips and lights it. Spider-Man doesn’t make any passing judgements. Harry takes a drag and then lowers the cigarette from his mouth as he exhales. Smoke billows out in front of him. Harry leans against the railing of the balcony once more. “Donald bought them for me. Said he was tired of my whining.”

“I don’t think you’re whiny,” Spider-Man said.

“Thanks, I guess.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. Another moment. Harry takes another drag. Peter thinks that, had this been two years ago, he’d have been having an asthma attack from the smoke. He wonders what it would’ve been like if they’d met before. If Peter had been the nerdy kid with health issues and Harry had been the sad rich boy. Would they still be friends? Would they still click the same way? 

“Do you think Peter’s tired of me?” Harry asks.

“What?”

“Well, he hasn’t spoken to me since he visited me at  _ Oscorp _ last week. Not even a text.”

Peter forgets that he technically hasn’t spoken to Harry in forever because, well, he talks to him every day. 

_ You look good. _ That was the last thing Peter had said to Harry. It had been dumb. He wanted to hit the Peter from a week ago upside the head. 

“He’s not tired of you. He’s just… tired in general. You should text him.”

“Now?”

“No!” Spider-Man says suddenly. Harry stops leaning against the railing and stands up straight. He swivels on his feet and looks at him, frowning. “Why?”

“I… his phone broke.”

“But you just told me to text him,” Harry deadpanned.

Spider-Man rubs the back of his neck with his right hand. He speaks with a slightly higher pitched voice “Did… did I?” 

“Why’d your voice raise?” Harry steps closer to Spider-Man.

“I… puberty. You know how it is.”

“O-kay…” Harry raises an eyebrow. 

And then he laughs.

And it’s adorable.

_ Oh, god, _ Peter thinks. 

He likes Harry.


	32. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smile danced across Peter’s lips as he said in a gentle tone, “do you trust me?”
> 
> Harry’s voice came out as barely a squeak. “Always.”

How is someone supposed to act normal upon realising they  _ liked _ one of their best friends? Their  _ male _ one at that? What did that even  _ mean? _ He wasn’t  _ gay…  _ he’d most definitely liked Liz… and then there was the whole issue with  _ Betty,  _ who he  _ also  _ really liked, but it was all different somehow. But the same. Confusing.

Peter had dramatically screamed face-first into his pillow that night. What  _ was _ he? 

He rolled over. He knew  _ exactly  _ what he was, but he dare not think it. He didn’t exactly have a  _ problem _ with it; he had a good support system. May wouldn’t care, neither would Ned… and MJ had made her stance on gay people abundantly clear earlier that day when she scolded Flash for his ‘jokes’. There was no  _ reason  _ for him to not want to say it. To not want to  _ think _ it.

He knew he’d known for a long time. It had always been at the back of his mind; he’d thought about that a lot lately. But that didn’t change a thing.

_ I am… _ his stomach does a lurch as his brain tries to finish the sentence, but he can’t. His mind won’t fill in the space. 

_ Bisexual.  _

He felt sick to his stomach, but oddly proud of himself for even daring to  _ think _ it. He was bisexual.  _ Bisexual. _

He bites his lip. His phone sits on his bedside table. Suddenly, it illuminates along with a vibration tone.

It was a text message from Harry reading simply this.

**_Hey. Are we good?_ **

Peter swallows. He wonders what Harry was doing at that moment. Was he sat at the kitchen table, still in his clothes from earlier? Was his feet up in the lounge room, rewatching yet another episode of  _ Gossip Girl? _ Or was he laying in bed, dressed in his pyjamas, just sat with his body under the covers and his phone in his hands? Peter thought about Harry’s now-floppy hair. Harry had changed a lot in the time since they’d first met. He’d had strong features before, but they were still distinctively those of a boy. Now he looked like a nineties star, like a young Leonardo Dicaprio or a Christian Slater. Peter needed to stop thinking that way.

**_yeah! why wouldn’t we be??_** Peter types out his reply and sends it. 

**_I don’t know._ ** Harry types back, and then underneath he added  **_Things just seem different._ **

Peter didn’t know how to reply to that. If Harry thought things were different then, things would most  _ definitely  _ change now Peter didn’t know how to act. 

**_Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to catch up after school tomorrow? You don’t have to of course but… I don’t know. I’d like to see you._ **

Peter could once again hear Harry’s voice through his texts. His speech captured perfectly somehow in the three short sentences. 

**_ya definitely_ ** Peter responds. God,  _ ya? _ He really was an idiot. How was he supposed to speak to Harry in real life if he couldn’t even keep his cool over text?

**_Great! I’ll see you tomorrow then. Have fun at school! x_ **

Peter froze as he looked at the message. Specifically, the  _ x. _ It was a silly thing to read into but…  _ nope,  _ Peter would not let himself get his hopes up. Even  _ if  _ Harry was by some miracle interested in guys, Peter would not be one of them. 

**_yeah, see you tomorrow!!_ ** Peter replied, trying to keep it smooth. He put his phone down on his bedside table and rolls onto his side, trying to fall asleep.

...

「◆」

...

**_Have fun at school! x_ **

Harry looks at the message he’d just sent off and wants to die. Why did he write that? Where did that even come from?

His mother would always send messages with  _ x’s _ at the end. He’d always been embarrassed by them, but loved it anyway. But Peter was not Harry; Peter was Harry’s friend. His  _ best  _ friend. 

**_yeah, see you tomorrow!!_ ** Peter replied. Harry wondered if maybe Peter was just pretending to ignore it, or perhaps he hadn’t noticed. 

His hair flops into his vision and he runs his left hand through it to pull it back. He needed to get a haircut, but he just hadn’t gotten around to it. Madeline had said he looked more handsome this way, but he wasn’t sure he believed her. 

Harry would have to attend a meeting tomorrow, one that would possibly change everything for the future of  _ Oscorp…  _ but after that, he’d have Peter. No matter what happened, he’d have Peter… and that sounded pretty good. 

...

「◆」

...

Harry stood on the rooftop of  _ Oscorp.  _ The rain was pouring down, but Harry couldn’t feel it. The sky was full of stars and the moon was high. Harry frowned.  _ How could you have rain with no clouds?  _

A hand squeezed his shoulder and a soft voice whispered in his ear.  _ “Hey Har.” _

Harry turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Barely an inch away from his face stood Peter. Peter’s hand slid from Harry’s shoulder and down his arm. Peter manoeuvred his way around Harry to stand in front of him. Peter’s hands trailed to each of Harry’s wrists, and then interwove with his fingers. Harry felt his own breath hitch a little as they stood there holding hands for a moment. The rain was soaking Peter through. His hair was becoming more and more curly with every passing moment. Harry thought he still looked as good as ever. 

A smile danced across Peter’s lips as he said in a gentle tone, “do you trust me?”

Harry’s voice came out as barely a squeak. “Always.”

Peter smiled wide. Peter took Harry’s left hand that was currently clasped in his own and placed it on his shoulder. Harry thought Peter’s shoulder felt more muscled than it reasonably should. Peter then let go of Harry’s hand and let it sit there. Peter then placed his hand on Harry’s waist. Peter guided them into a dance. They swayed, just dancing on the roof of  _ Oscorp _ in the rain. 

They inched closer together with each passing moment; soon Harry’s lips were almost grazing Peter’s ear. Harry bit his lip and span Peter around, as he’d seen his father do to his mother once when he was little. They danced close in the moonlight. Peter smiled and looked up at Harry. Peter’s eyes were such a nice shade of brown. They were just as Harry remembered from when they laid beside each other that night. 

Peter’s eyes flickered down to Harry’s lips for a moment, and Harry took that as an invitation. He leaned forward, slowly, his eyes closed. Their lips brush for a moment, and then…

Harry woke up to tapping on his bedroom door. His phone was beside him, still illuminated with his text conversation with Peter from the night before. Harry closed his eyes and laid on his back. He felt guilty, dreaming about Peter like that. He shook his head and sat up in his bed.

“Come in,” he called to the person waiting outside the door. 

Madeline stepped inside the room with a tray of food, but soon stops when she sees Harry.

“Are you alright? You look very flushed.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I, uh… just a dream.”

“What sort of dream?” Madeline asks innocently, but Harry is sure she knows – or at least suspects – what Harry’s dream was possibly about.

“Dancing. I was dancing,” Harry says. 

“Hmm. With who?” Madeline smiles and places the tray on Harry’s lap. There’s tea and waffles with strawberries piled onto the tray. Harry looks away from Madeline.

“Peter.”

“Ah,” Madeline says, knowingly, “the boy who’s stolen my boy’s heart.”

_ My boy. _ Harry suddenly looks up at Madeline. It was such an affectionate moniker. Like he was her son. Harry smiled.

“I wouldn’t say he’s stolen my heart,” Harry says.

“Oh? Because if you ask me, you seem pretty enamoured with him–”

“Okay, yes,  _ maybe…” _ Harry says. He sighs. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Harry,” Madeline says.

Harry takes a sip of his tea. “I know, but I… I don’t know. It’s complicated. I mean, he’s my best friend! How cliché is that? Besides…” Harry puts his fork in a strawberry on his plate and takes a bite, “he would never like me that way. Ever.”

“Why not?” Madeline asks, “you’re nice, you’re smart, you’re handsome…”

Harry shakes his head, “you’re just saying that because you feel obligated to.”

“Harry,” Madeline sits on the foot of Harry’s bed, “I would never lie to you. That boy is confusing, and complicated, but all teenage boys are–”

“I don’t do complicated,” Harry says simply.

“And yet you still like him,” Madeline replies, “I don’t think you understand that you can’t place rules like that on yourself. Because for the right person you will break every single one of them. He’s complicated, and that’s okay because you would do anything for him regardless.”

Harry knew that was true. Peter could ask him to do anything at all and he’d never be able to refuse.

“I don’t want to like him, Madeline,” Harry says, “not when there’s never a chance of him–”

“I’d say he likes you more than you seem to think.”

Harry frowns. Madeline smiles. “I’ll leave you to eat your breakfast. Mister Menken wants you ready in the next three hours.”

“I… yeah. Okay.”

Madeline gets up and walks to the door, before closing it behind her. Harry can’t help but wonder what exactly Madeline meant… was it possible? Could Peter…? 

Harry shook his head.  _ Never in a million years. _


End file.
